


Mission Medic

by BromeliadLucy



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Panic Attacks, Swearing, sad rabbit death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8180486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BromeliadLucy/pseuds/BromeliadLucy
Summary: Fury picked her to be the Medic accompanying Steve Rogers on all his missions. His mission is to save the day, hers is to make sure he lives to do it again.





	1. Chapter 1

“Fucking disaster. Absolute fucking disaster. Shit shit shit.”

Her footsteps dragged through the snow in time to her muttered cursing. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, each breath frosted white in the cold air. She continued to curse as she cut a path through the snow. 

She paused for a moment and looked up, eyes squinting against the bright winter sunlight, low in the sky now as the afternoon drew in. A sigh of relief. The half hidden roof of a cabin, just now fading into the shadow of the surrounding forest. She’d seen it on the map, what felt like days ago, but had no real trust it would still be here. But it had been something for her to aim for. Something for _them_ to aim for.

She hitched the arm around her shoulder a little higher, tightening her grip around the man’s waist beside her. Turned slightly back to see the trail of blood drops behind them. More than she’d hoped. They’d been walking a long time now and yet the blood was coming as fast as before. No time to waste. She moved forward again, muttering once more. The man beside her walked in time with her, barely aware that his feet were moving as he concentrated on staying awake, despite the line of pain running through him, tempting his brain to shut down. If he fell, she wouldn’t be able to lift him, so he had to keep walking.

They reached the cabin a short while later and she propped him against the porch while she looked, fruitlessly, for a key. Teeth gritted with frustration at yet another thing gone wrong and she lifted a leg, kicking the door repeatedly until the wood, long since untended, splintered and they could enter. The man was too far gone now to notice how she gasped in pain as she had to lift her leg, and how it took her a moment, holding onto the door frame, before she was able to support him again and help him inside.

Out of the snow and light, she walked him over to a sagging couch and lowered him onto it as gently as she could, his weight causing her to half topple forward as he sat. She looked around and saw a towel hanging on a rack by the cold fireplace. The towel was crisp with age and cold but she shook it out before folding it into a pad and pressing it against the man’s leg, moving his hand on top of it.

“Can you press this down?” She peered into the man’s face. He hadn’t moved since she’d dropped him on the couch, lying in an uncomfortable position propped on an elbow but too exhausted to move. He nodded sharply, and she saw his fingers blanch as he put pressure on the wound. She took a breath, bone-weary herself but knowing that she had to go on.

“I need to get up, get our bearings, work out a plan…” Despite his wound, he still sounded commanding and was used to being in charge. He started to move, attempting to sit up with little success.

“You need to sit down, _Captain_.” Her voice was sarcastic as she spoke his title. “I’m the mission medic and I’m telling you to let me do my job before you bleed out.” She put a hand to his shoulder, pushing only lightly as he gave in. 

Back outside she looked around before spotting a logpile, luckily left well stocked. The cabin was here as an emergency shelter, designed to be left ready for the next person by anyone who used it, and it seemed that the last occupant had taken this to heart. The wood was stacked well, dry and resin-scented, and she filled a nearby box with as much as she could normally carry. As she lifted it, her knees gave way and she sank down into the snow, hand pressed to her own side now. An animal-like grimace shot across her face as she pushed herself up again, hand to knee, slowly. Time for weakness wasn’t yet. She took half the wood out of the box and tried again, slowly lifting the box but favouring one side as she trudged back to the cabin.

The man had his eyes closed now, but she could see that he was still conscious enough to press on the wound. She didn’t want to disturb it yet, so set to laying a fire in the fireplace, hoping the chimney was clear. There was kindling nearby, matches in a metal tin on the mantelpiece, so it wasn’t long until she was feeding wood into the flames, watching as the fire licked up the logs and she could start to feel the warmth spreading. She tried one of the doors leading off the room and found only stairs; tried another and found a small kitchen. Opening cupboards until she found a pan, she headed back outside to fill it with snow and set it back on the fire to warm. 

Her movements were slower now, and the desire to lie down and rest was unbearable, but the protocols that had been drilled into her for years now were powerful, and kept her going when it was hard to make conscious decisions. 

The cabin was small, and well insulated, so the warmth from the generous fire was spreading quickly despite the building being long empty. She stood again, holding onto the mantelpiece for support and eyed the man, and herself. Both were wearing winter uniforms, strong boots and good coats, but the damp had soaked through nonetheless. She dropped to her knees and started unlacing the man’s boots, pulling off damp leather and socks. Somehow his bare feet, pinched white with cold, made him look vulnerable and she gave a small smile as she sat and pulled off her own boots. 

She dragged a dusty blanket off the back of the couch, causing the man to stir, and then wrapped it around him. His eyes opened and he took in the fire, the pan of melting snow, wriggling his toes as they warmed.

“I’m going to have to get that bullet out now. It’s going to hurt like a bitch.” No point in beating around the bush, this was familiar territory for them both now although this wound was deeper than they’d dealt with for a while, and they were usually in better conditions than this. He nodded.

She got herself ready, both exhaustion and a reluctance to act slowing her movements. Her uniform was stocked with the basics for first aid, along with a few extra additions she’d made, experience on missions teaching her what was useful. 

The cabin was warm now, the dried logs burning fast and hot. She put a few more on the fire, glad to see the cold air outside was drawing the smoke up the chimney well. Anyone looking would see the smoke, yes, but without the fire they’d be dead long before any enemies could find them, so it was the only choice right now. 

The water was boiling at last so she quickly unpacked needle, thread, all the equipment she could, and put it in the pan. It was a small gesture to sterilisation but all she could improvise. Bringing in another pan from the kitchen, after a few moments she wrapped her coat around her hands and hoisted the full pan off the fire, breath hissing at the weight. She emptied the water from one pan to another, leaving the equipment in the now empty pan to cool slightly as she assessed the man again. He was watching her, frowning.

“You’re hurt. You winced.”

“I’m fine. Lie down.” He frowned and stayed still. “I told you. Mission Medic. Right now, if you want to not die, you do as I say. Lie. Down.”

He lay back on the couch and she pushed a pillow under his head for comfort, and pulled the blanket away from his legs, wrapping it over his chest and arms for warmth. She pulled out a knife from a pocket on her uniform leg and, gently moving his hand holding the towel, started cutting the man’s trousers. With a large hole cut, the extent of the wound was revealed. The wounds, plural. The man was covered in bruises and cuts, but this was nothing new. The wound in his thigh though, was worse than usual, and his reaction to it worried her.

“I wouldn’t normally take the bullet out, but you’re gonna get an infection if I leave it in there so I’m going to have to try. Just hope it’s not the only thing plugging up the veins…” She muttered, more to herself than to him. He was used to that by now, it was how she worked. 

She tested the temperature of the water, cooler now, and then without warning, poured some over the wound.

“SHIT!” The man jerked to a sitting position as the water hit his injury.

“Sorry. Need to see what I’m doing, too much blood.” She was worried, this was not a hygienic set up but was all she had. She picked up some forceps, hot still against her cold hand, then put them down again. Searching through the wood pile she found a smooth length of wood and gave it to him. He eyed her curiously.

“Like I said, gonna hurt like a bitch. You might want to bite on that.”

“I’m fine. It’s OK.” She sighed.

“I forgot, never show weakness, be a man… fine. Martyr yourself, just don’t scream in my ear, ok?”

She picked up the forceps again, met his eye, and then started work.

It was not a clean, or a pleasant process. The bullet had missed the artery but there was damage and the flesh seemed to be reacting to the bullet in unusual ways. It was only a matter of minutes but for both of them, it felt a lot longer. The man stayed silent throughout, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut. As she felt the forceps close around the bullet, she heard a sharp crack as the stick the man was holding snapped under his tightening grip. Bullet out, she dropped it onto the floor and took a sharp breath. The man’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat, veins bulging in his forehead.

“It’s out.” The man’s mouth opened and he let out a gasp followed by a string of swearwords, and she smiled. “Still got to stitch it though.” Despite the situation, her mouth quirked with amusement as the swearing intensified.

Rewashing the wound, unhappy with how she was having to clean it, she started stitching. She’d done this so often to this man now, and she was known for her gentle hands. Pulling the last stitch and cutting off the thread with her knife she sat back on her heels and eyed her work. The bleeding had stopped, that was a start. Throwing the tools back in the pan, she patted her pockets until she found what she was looking for. 

“Drink this. Just one mouthful.”

“I can’t get drunk, you know that.” The man had sat himself up again now, swinging his leg carefully to rest on a stool, and spoke idly as he assessed her work, relieved now the worst was over.

“It’s not alcohol, you idiot.” He looked up at the bottle she was holding. “Mix of antibiotics, painkillers, and a sedative. Designed for supersoldiers. This is all I have, rest’s back at the jet. So just one mouthful for now.” 

He swallowed a mouthful obediently then laid his head back against the couch.

“Something off about that bullet. Shouldn’t have affected me like that.” She nodded agreement, picking the bullet up and eyeing it.

“I’m no expert, we’ll take it back to Stark.” Their eyes met as she spoke, both wondering if they’d ever actually get back to Stark, or anyone else. No comms, no trail, either no-one would find them, or the wrong people would.

She saw the man’s eyes start to close, and pulled the blanket up to cover him further. Trusting that he was finally asleep, she let her chin drop to her chest and her eyes shut for a moment, letting out a deep breath that she felt she’d been holding forever.

“Sleep well, Steve.” She spoke quietly, to herself. Now time to deal with her own wounds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped in the cabin, it's time to treat wounds, and for some truths to be shared.

She added more wood to the fire, and as the wood caught and the flames grew, realised that it was growing dark. She tried the light switch with little hope but nothing happened. Presumably there was a generator that needed starting somewhere, but it was too cold and dark to do anything about it now. The cabin seemed well stocked though so she resigned herself to a search for some other form of light. 

She headed for the kitchen, and searched through cupboards, finding a stock of candles laid in. Heading back to the main room, she heard the wind getting up, howling past the windows and over the chimney. She pulled curtains over the windows, glad to shut out the sight of the dark outside. It was unlikely anyone – from either side – would be out searching for them in this weather, so it was up to her to keep them going. She had noticed cans of food in the cupboards and hoped they’d be edible still. She could lay traps and set out snares but in this cold there wouldn’t be much moving in the woods. She stood at the last window before she drew the curtains and watched the dark settle over the forest outside. Other than the wind, there were no signs of life.

The sun went down beyond the treeline and with the full dark outside, she could see her own reflection in the window, a ghost staring back at her. She stepped away, shutting the curtain quickly against the sight. She had to take care of her own injury now, not waste time. Lighting plenty of candles so she could see clearly, she started to pull off her uniform top, but lifting her arms was too painful, the movement tugging on her wound. She reached for her knife again, and started slicing up the side seam, awkwardly slashing through the cloth by feel alone. She bit her lip in pain as the dried blood pulled her skin as she worked. 

Her uniform was black, advantageous when hiding in the shadows, but also good at hiding blood. The Captain hadn’t been able to see the extent of her blood loss against the black fabric. She finished slicing the side open and squirmed out, moving her arm as little as possible. She was now just in her underwear and her skin prickled in the cold air. Looking down, she could see a long ragged cut down her side, slicing over ribs and down into her flesh. The top was shallow and had already stopped bleeding but the lower end was still oozing dark blood slowly, kept open by all her movements.

She put the pan and instruments back to boil and tried to assess how best to repair herself. It was hard to see what she was doing, her arm in the way. She looked around, hoping for a mirror, but there was nothing of use, so she decided to try upstairs. Opening the door to the stairs and leaving the one heated room, she felt the full impact of the cold weather. Without this cabin, they would both be dead by now.

The stairs led straight into a bedroom, empty but functional. No mirror, but she collected more blankets from the bed, and towels from the closet, and took them back downstairs to warm and air. She’d just have to do the best she could.

Back downstairs she emptied the hot water again and waited for the tools to cool. She folded a towel and soaked it in the water, holding it to her side to loosen the dried blood and clean the wound. The heat and loss of blood combined with her exhaustion to leave her woozy and she had to rest for a moment, terrified of losing consciousness.

She got her needle ready then paused, summoning the courage to begin. It was hard to get a good angle or a good grip on her skin while peering down, and when your hands were trembling with exhaustion and pain. It was only the knowledge that there were no other options that made her brave enough. It was going to be a botched job though, but her skin was already scarred enough that one more barely mattered.

Her teeth were clenched tightly, her face a grimace of pain, as she pulled the needle through her own skin. There was none of the elegance she’d used on the man, despite the fact he’d heal smooth anyway. This was functional, hold the wound together to stop the bleeding and no concern for the look. She paused for a second, wiping the cold sweat off her forehead, over half way along the scar now and swallowing the nausea she felt.

“You _were_ hurt.” The voice from the gloom made her jump.

“Don’t startle someone sticking a fucking needle in their skin, Captain!” Her anger was quickened by fear, at her injury being discovered, and at being half-undressed and vulnerable. She couldn’t do anything, needing to finish the stitching, and couldn’t move out of the bright circle of candlelight. The man’s voice sounded groggy and she hoped he wouldn’t look too closely.

“You have a _lot_ of scars.” No such luck there then.

“I KNOW.” Her voice echoed around the small room in the dark. She pulled herself together. “I know,” she repeated, more quietly. He could hear the sorrow in her voice. 

“When did you get them?”

She kept her eyes on the stitching, the pain a welcome distraction from the conversation; the talk a distraction from the pain. Sentences were punctuated by pauses to slip the needle in and out, it was too much to talk through.

“Well, there’s one from Budapest, a couple from Romania, you get the idea.” There was silence from the couch for a minute. She finished the last stitch and sagged with relief, then blew out some of the candles, unsure how long they’d be stuck without light and wanting to make them last, but also glad of the cover of darkness. Her top needed mending before it could be worn again so she dragged one of the blankets from the bedroom over and wrapped it around herself. The fire was dying down again but she was too exhausted to do anything about it now.

“I never knew. You got all those on missions with me? Protecting me?” She laughed, lightheaded with tiredness and pain.

“You don’t need protecting! Come on Captain, you protect me. I’m just tagging along to patch you up after. Just doing my job.” She paused. “And you’re not _supposed_ to know, that’s the point. And you wouldn’t know this time if we weren’t stuck in this damn cabin. You’d be being treated and so would I.” She looked up now, seeing the candlelight reflecting in his eyes, staring straight at her. “I’m sorry that’s not how this has wound up, Captain.”

“Call me Steve. I’ve told you before. We’ve worked together for two years now. Call me Steve.”

“You’re my commanding officer, Captain, I can’t do that.”

“You don’t treat me like your CO when you boss me around, y’know”. That brought a half-smile to her face, but it didn’t stay long. “As your CO then, why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

She looked up at him in the flickering light. She knew she should move, find them food and drink after all they’d been through, stoke the fire, check his wound, but she felt distanced from reality now that they were warm and safe at last.

“You’re the priority, Captain Rogers. Fury made that very plain to me when he first paired us up.” She’d often wondered how much he knew about what Fury had said. Perhaps nothing, it seemed. “You’re my mission. _Your_ mission is to defeat the bad guys; uphold truth, justice, the American way, all that. _Mine_ is to keep you alive, at any and all cost. Which is why I’m fucking furious you got hurt. On _my_ watch. And that now we’re stuck here.” Her chin fell to her chest, too tired to hold it upright now. She was still sitting on the floor where she’d stitched herself. Her body ached and she longed to move to the couch, somewhere soft and comfortable, but it felt too intimate to sit next to the man.

“Any and all cost? What the hell does that mean?” She sighed. He obviously knew nothing. She gave in to the need for comfort, gathering the blanket around herself and shuffling to the couch. Rogers moved up, giving her space, but her distraction didn’t work. As she settled down with a sigh of relief, he spoke again, his voice angry.

“Well?” A deep breath. She was close enough to see his face in the dim light now. He’d never been good at keeping a straight face, his deep-rooted honesty and goodness making every emotion too visible.

“Fury picked me because I had the right… attitude for the job. The other medics would have failed because they cared about their own lives. They had families, friends, a reason to go on. My sole reason for carrying on is my mission. I have nothing else to live for. So I keep you alive, or I die trying. AND I die trying if I have to.” 

His brow puckered with confusion. 

“You have a deathwish?” She laughed, humourlessly.

“No! I don’t _want_ to die. I just don’t care if I do. Not in the least. And there’s no one else who would care either. So Fury knows I’ll throw myself into the fray, I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll give you the last drop of my own blood if I have to.”

“You’re a medic, you’re not supposed to fight…” He looked frustrated at how little sense this made to him.

“I’m a medic yes. But I’ve also been trained for years to fight. That’s why I’m partnered with you. I can fight alongside you like any of your team, then put you back together and get you out.” She laughed again. “I mean, let’s be honest, it’s not like you usually need my help, fighting or medical, supersoldier and all, but Fury isn’t taking any risks.”

“Nobody cares that little about life.”

“Hate to break it to you Captain, but I do. So as long as Fury says, you’re my mission, down to the last breath.” She was utterly drained now, slipping into an irresistible sleep as her body finally relaxed on the couch.

“S’why I call you Captain, can’t let myself want more than m'mission…”

She was asleep, deeply, after the exertions of the day, and so she didn’t see the way he looked at her as he pulled the blankets around them both. The pain on his face wasn’t due to his wound alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a storm hits, a secret comes out.

She woke up, stiff and cold, to a dark room. The fire had burnt down and the candles were guttering now. The Captain was asleep beside her on the couch and she was conscious of how their bodies had moved towards one another, seeking warmth. Their arms and legs were touching, faces turned to one another, and she pulled back slowly, afraid that he would wake while she was still so close. Easing out of the blankets and tucking them around him, she became aware of what had woken her; the sound of the wind was increasing, the weather outside worsening. Feeling his forehead gently, her hand felt heat and a clammy sweat, unnatural in the cold room. ‘God Steve, this is my fault’, her voice was almost hidden by the wind’s noise. Despite two years and dozens of missions together, she would only allow herself to say his name when he couldn’t hear. When he was sleeping, after the comms were turned off. When she was alone.

Pulling back the curtains to let in what little light there was, she could see the snow swirling off the ground as the wind chased it, despite the shelter of the forest near the cabin. The sky was dark and low, although it was daytime. She knew the weather here, it was familiar, and she recognised the signs of a blizzard approaching. They would be here for longer than she’d hoped.

Laying a fire to re-warm the room, she pulled on her uniform again, finding string in the kitchen to tie around her to hold the sliced seam closed. She pulled on boots and coat, glad to be active and keep her mind from thinking. The cabin, set out for hunters, had a good supply of wires and traps, and she gathered up an armful, frowning as she stepped outside. The cold took her breath away and sharpened her mind, dulled by pain and worry. Survival was perilous, with their wounds, and limited food, so this wasn’t the time for thinking but doing. Taking one last look back at where the Captain still slept, she pulled the door closed and set off.

At home in the forest, she easily saw what others might miss, the tracks of small mammals over the snow. Working quickly, and shivering, she set traps and tied snares over paths until her hands grew too numb to tie the wires. She stood, orienting herself again, marking the location of the traps and the cabin. The noise of the wind was quieter under the shelter of the trees but she knew that the coming storm would stir some of the animals and she hoped that there would be some fresh meat.

Back at the cabin, she threw more wood on the fire and then huddled over it, hands clutched between thighs, until her frost-pale skin started to warm up. She set more snow to warm and then went to stand over the soldier, thinking. 

Feeling his forehead again, she came to a decision and gently woke him, calling ‘Captain Rogers’ and shaking his shoulder. When he woke, her worry increased. The usually stoic, powerful Captain, was confused and querulous. His fever was high, and yet the serum in his blood was supposed to prevent him from being ill. Something was very wrong. Finding her bottle, she gave him another mouthful of the supersoldier medicine. He resisted, and she had to hold his head like a child, cajoling him.

“Come on captain, it’ll make things feel better. You need to take this, you’re sick.” She got a mouthful down his throat, followed by a cup of water, then let him slump back. At least with his enhancements, he’d rally quickly, but he was sinking back just as fast.

Forcing herself to move, she headed back to the kitchen to assess their supplies. Tins of stew, meat, potatoes, some tins of fruit. There was a good supply but with no way of knowing how long they’d be stuck, it was hard to know if there was enough. As she tallied up the food she realised how hungry she was. Exhaustion had overwhelmed them both the night before but now her stomach growled. Since she didn’t know how long to make the food last, they might as well start with a good meal after 24 hours or more without. She wanted to get something warm into the captain as well, give him strength the old-fashioned way, if the serum wasn’t working.

Unwilling to stay in the unheated kitchen for too long, she gathered tins in her arms and went back into the warmth of the main room. The captain was awake now, watching her and looking more in control of himself again. She ignored his glances, concentrating on cutting the tins open with her knife, a part of her regretting the way the edge dulled against the metal, and emptying beef and potatoes into a pan and onto the fire. The food heating, she sat back, her hand going to her wounded side involuntarily as she rubbed the ache.

“You should have some of that medicine too. It wouldn’t hurt you, would it? But you said it had a painkiller, an antibiotic?”

“It’s for supersoldiers – for you, Sgt Barnes, Ms Romanov. Not for me. I’m good.” 

“But it wouldn’t _hurt_ you…” He was persistent, insisting that a little would be a good idea.

“There’s not enough. What there is, is for you. That’s all. So stop, Captain.” He frowned at that, sighing. She knew he wasn’t the type to give up, he’d bring this up again and again, but she turned her back, poking at the bubbling food, then walking back to the kitchen silently for bowls and spoons.

The food was hot and welcome and it was almost pleasant to sit by the fire and share food. But up close, the reality of the wounds, the pain, and their predicament, made it seem less romantic. The food was all too soon gone and the wind hadn’t let up.

“I need to check your wound,” she moved to pull the blankets away from him but he resisted.

“It’s fine. Check your own.” He pulled the blankets up to his chin and spoke with the petulant voice of a child, grinning as he made her laugh. She didn’t dare check her wound yet, sure that she’d felt it bleeding as she’d bent and turned setting traps. Time enough for that later. She’d check his later too, she didn’t have the fight in her at the moment.

“I’m going to need to… go. Quite urgently.” She looked up at him, confused, as he spoke.

“You can’t go, there’s a blizzard coming and you’re inju… oh, go. Right!” She pulled him up, smiling as he blushed. “I am a medic, you know, you don’t need to be shy.” She winked at him, always more comfortable when she could fill the medical role than when talk got personal. 

Helping him on with his socks and boots, now dry and stiff from sitting in front of the fire, she glanced up at the hole in his uniform trousers that she’d cut to reach his wound. The stitched hole didn’t look right still. She frowned, hoping he hadn’t noticed her glance. She helped him on with his coat, and took his weight as he walked towards the door, feeling the roll of his muscles against her as he stretched, stiff from lying still for so long. Outside, he gasped at the cold as they trudged through the snow together.

“Storm’s coming,” she said and he nodded.

“We’re not going anywhere then. Food? Wood?” His military, practical side was coming through despite his pain.

“We’re OK for a bit. But I don’t know how long we’re going to have to wait.” She glanced up at him and saw his brow furrow, as his thoughts followed the same train as hers. Was anyone looking for them? If so who, and when would they be found? And if no one was looking for them, what then.

She propped him against a tree, told him he could do the next bit himself, and went to look at the traps, positioning herself in relation to the cabin and finding the snares she’d set earlier. It was too early to expect much so she was pleased to see a rabbit, no doubt frightened out of its routine by the oncoming storm, caught in one, neck broken. It was plump and fresh and would add a meal, but it wasn’t much. Carrying the body, she set off back for the soldier, calling out ‘you decent Captain?’ with a smile in her voice. He draped his arm around her shoulders again, eyeing the rabbit with puzzlement as they headed back to the cabin.

“We’d better bring more wood in. Once the storm hits, just reaching the woodpile will be impossible. I know the storms here, we’ll be stuck inside until it blows over.” With her head lowered by the weight of his arm on her neck, she didn’t see the look he gave her as she spoke about knowing the storms. To the best of his knowledge, she’d never been to this country before.

They both worked to bring in as much wood as they could. She found a tall pole that the Captain could use as a walking stick, so he could carry a box in one arm. Her wound still prevented her carrying too much so it took many exhausting trips. At first they laughed together at the sight they made, both hobbling and weak, but as their feet dragged through the snow and their arms ached with cold, the smiles left their faces. 

“Enough. That’ll have to do. We need to stop.” She was glad he’d spoken, her face was stiff with cold and her side was throbbing but she’d been determined to match his strength. Foolish. As the medic, she should have spoken up sooner to save his energy.

Before going inside, she took the lid off a water barrel on the porch to allow it to collect snow, and filled every pan they could find, to provide water. One final task before she could sit down, she quickly skinned and gutted the rabbit, her movements mechanically performing a well-known task despite her fingers being numb with cold. Throwing the skin out into the snow and cleaning off her knife she felt his eyes on her.

“They teach you that at medical school?” She could hear doubt in his voice, too many inconsistencies adding up. She’d been so careful for so long, but this whole damn mission had put her in situations she couldn’t control. Walking past him, she dropped the rabbit in the sink then rubbed her hands with snow to clean them before turning to face him. 

Her concern about how to explain herself was replaced by a concern for the Captain as soon as she turned. The strain of carrying wood, normally no effort for him, had exhausted him. He was lying back on the sofa, face pale and eyes sunken. He hadn’t moved to take off his damp coat or boots again, looking as if even breathing was an effort. What had that bullet done?

Her training kicked in again and she drew herself together, bustling about. Taking his wet clothes and shoes off again, wrapping blankets around him, she gave him warm water and another mouthful of medicine. They’d run out sometime, but with no way of knowing how long they had, it might as well be used when it was needed. Throwing more wood on the fire, she tried to keep up a bland chatter to fill the silence.

“So we have plenty of food, as long as your tastes run to meat, potatoes and applesauce, on repeat. Once the storm’s gone I’ll go out and set more traps. You’ll be on your feet again by then I’m sure, and we can think about heading out perhaps. You’ll think of something, star spangled man with the plan, what’s the plan?” She was aware she was talking nonsense but he made no effort to join the conversation. Eventually her talk ran dry and she had nothing left to fill her hands, the small room taking little effort to maintain. The fire was warm, curtains drawn and candles lit, water melting.

“I’ll go cut up that rabbit, see if I can find a way to roast it. I’m no cook at the best of times…”

“You’ve got a whole host of unexpected skills, you sure cook isn’t in there too?” She paused on the way to the kitchen. This was a conversation she’d been afraid of. 

“The rabbit will keep, it’s not that long since we ate, you should come and rest a bit first.” He patted the blankets, a parody of an invitation but she knew it was more a command. She sat down on the edge of the couch and was surprised when he huffed and rolled his eyes, pulling her closer to share warmth and wrapping a blanket around her.

“I’m not going to bite, you know.” She relaxed a little, glad of the chance to sit for a moment, the throbbing in her side being harder to ignore the more she worked. She let her head fall back for a second, eyes closed, and let her muscles finally relax.

“So, you fight. You’re a medic. Far as I can tell, you’re related to Robinson Crusoe with your survival skills…” His voice asked a question although his words didn’t. She kept her eyes shut although her muscles tensed up as if prepared to run. “And the whole sacrifice thing? You’d die… for me? Why?”

She stood up, pushing the blankets away, and went into the kitchen, pulling the door shut behind her. She knew he wouldn’t give up, and there was nowhere to run, but she didn’t know how she could answer his questions without everything changing. With a sigh, she picked up her knife and started cutting the rabbit up, preferring to do something useful even while her mind churned.

The kitchen was almost dark by the time she finished, and brought the meat in on a plate. The captain was still on the couch, leg raised on a stool, and looked drained.

“I’m not gonna stop you know…” he started, just as the storm hit. The room was instantly darker, and the fire died back for a moment as the wind across the chimney increased. The sound of snow pelting against the windows made her shiver, although the room was warm. Now they were truly trapped. 

Putting the plate down, she lit more candles to see off the threatening dark, then tucked spare towels over curtain rails and across the bottom of the door, shutting out as many draughts as she could. The captain watched her, frustrated at his inability to help, hating his weakness. She hated it too, so afraid of what was wrong with him. Glad of the wood pile they’d brought in, she added another thick log to the fire, then went upstairs to the bedroom, dragging down the mattress from the bed and shoving the furniture aside to lay it in front of the fire. She knew her wound was weeping again from the effort but the Captain might heal better with proper rest on a mattress instead of slumped on a couch.

Now there was little else she could do. The storm held them hostage, creating a forced intimacy as they stayed in the one room so as not to waste wood. She sat cross legged on the mattress by the fire, back to the couch, and sorted through the kindling for some twigs to spear the rabbit meat. Now that there was less to do, her mind went back to all the ways she’d failed in this mission, how she’d failed Fury and the Captain, how his wound wasn’t healing. She was so caught up in her thoughts that his voice startled her.

“So where did you learn all this? Trapping, survival skills, hunting, fighting… When Fury paired us up I assumed you were just another SHIELD doc but last I saw they didn’t teach rabbit trapping and sharpshooting to doctors. You grow up around here? And the scars? And what about that whole ‘I’d died for you’ thing. Lovestruck?” She could hear the joke in his voice but knew there was no humour. He was a highly intelligent man and he wasn’t going to let go of the secrets he could sense. She hung her head, chin to chest, and sighed.

“Hydra, OK? I learnt it all from Hydra. I am Hydra.”


	4. Chapter 4

Wound or no, the captain was up and off the couch in an instant. He slammed her into the mattress, face down, making it hard to breathe. His knee was in her back, and he jerked her arms up and back hard. A slow trickle of blood seeped out of the cut on her side, making its way down to the mattress. She didn’t resist the harsh treatment, expecting it. Deserving it.

“What the hell do you mean, you’re Hydra?” She could hear pain in his voice, and wasn’t sure if it was due to his injury, or to her admission of betrayal. He shook her, spoke again, his voice harsh. “What the hell?” His confusion was clear, and she could almost sense the paths his mind was taking.

_It all made sense to him now. She’d kept herself to herself for so long. He couldn’t remember when he’d first been aware of her at the SHIELD base, it was a busy place. She’d been a figure in the background, seen in training or eating alone in the canteen. Just one figure among many. She must have been there a year or so before Fury had brought her into the mission room. Did Fury know? How could he not? But why then…? And her skills. He’d seen her shoot, seen her kill. Why had he not noticed this wasn’t typical for a medic before? Why had he been so blind? Her survival skills, her knowledge of these forests…_

_Steve had been sent out on missions with medics before, they often took one along as a precaution. There were enough normal human soldiers and spies whose lives could be saved with a medic on hand, and although supersoldiers might heal quickly, it was still easier not to bleed everywhere if you could help it. There’d been talk recently too, that Hydra were working on something new, and Fury was uneasy. So medics came and went. They usually stayed on the jet, ready to patch people up on the ride home. He could barely remember their names or faces, they were interchangeable. A polite few words here and there, that was the extent of the interaction. Until two years ago, Fury brought her in. She came into the mission briefing, she heard their plans. Had she been feeding back to Hydra? How could this be? Then Fury had insisted she was it, no more changes of medic. Something about building up a relationship, about the need for continuity of care. You could never tell what Fury was thinking, but he’d insisted that there was a need. It was all the same to the team, good to know there was someone there with a lighter touch to stitch up wounds, but then she’d been there again and again, a constant presence. The things they’d said in front of her – to her – had they made their way back to Hydra?_

_This couldn’t be. His mind flashed to the times he’d seen her shoot out Hydra operatives. He wasn’t sure when she’d started leaving the jet with them, when they’d started relying on her skills, seeing her as part of the team. She did keep herself to herself, but she’d saved Clint’s life when he was shot. She’d thrown herself in front of someone trying to get to Cap, taken the hit for him. How could that be? Was she playing a long game?_

_But then the most recent mission. Maybe this was what it had all been about. Here he was, injured. Trapped. Alone. The team was flown and he was in the hands of someone who quite openly said ‘I’m Hydra’. He could feel his wound throbbing, waves of continual pain. Walking was hard, staying focussed was hard. Was that the plan? Win their trust and then get him here? He thought back to the mission. Nothing unusual had happened as they’d got their briefing. But no, she hadn’t been there, she’d been resupplying the jet, she’d said something about some new medicine she wanted to bring. Was that what she’d been giving him? It had felt as if it was doing him good, he felt clearer when he took it, but what did he really know about what he was drinking?_

_The first she’d known about their mission location was when they landed, and it had been almost straight into a firefight then. Had she left the jet with them? He’d led from the front, as always, assuming his team were following. And yes, he’d considered her a part of the team. Then they were inside the Hydra base, pushing through and yes, she’d been there. He knew, because that’s when he saw her stop, dead. She’d stood there, in that room, and frozen. Like Bucky when Zemo had said his trigger words. A moment of stillness, waiting for the next orders. Was that what had happened? Had something triggered her? His thoughts were racing now. No, she’d looked… afraid. She’d stopped, and he could see her struggling to breathe, as if panic was holding her in a vice. And that’s when a soldier had lunged for her, slicing down her side so she fell, silently, to the floor. And as he’d run over to take out the soldier, as he raised his knife for a fatal blow, that’s when another soldier had taken the shot. The shot that was now burning in his flesh._

_None of this made sense._

He realised he’d been kneeling on her all the time his thoughts were racing, and could see her struggling to breathe, gasping out of the corner of her mouth. He moved jerkily off her, leg spasming as he moved so he almost fell to the mattress beside her. His mind raced, spinning between visions of her saving his friends, to the sound of her words; the memory of her taking out Hydra with a fury that was rarely seen, to her intimate knowledge of just how to do that. Neither view seemed any more real to him now, and yet her words echoed in his head. ‘I am Hydra’.

She hadn’t moved, although he wasn’t resting his weight on her now. She lay, face twisted towards him, and he could see her eyes were filled with tears. Suddenly, fuelled by pain and anger and betrayal, he flipped her over, her breath coming out with a gasp as he did. He straddled her waist, his weight pinning her lower body. One large hand held her arms above her head.

“You’re not Hydra.” She wasn’t sure if he was denying it to her, or to himself, as if saying it vehemently enough would make it true. “I’ve seen you take out Hydra, you’ve killed, you’ve helped destroy their work. You said yourself Fury paired us up, are you saying he knows? Or that you got past him. No. I won’t believe it.”

His face was filled with rage but his eyes sparkled with unshed tears. He was a good man, never afraid to show his emotions. He jerked at her arms again in anger, but she didn’t respond. She was used to this. She’d been trained to withstand pain. She was close enough to see his wound, pale and sickly looking, the flesh damp and white as if kept in the dark. Hydra technology had done that.

He shook her again, tears falling unheeded now, dropping onto her upturned face. “What the HELL”, he repeated. She waited, letting his rage wear itself out, knowing that his injured body couldn’t sustain it. She knew how deep his hatred for Hydra went, how his thoughts would be turning to Bucky and all that Hydra had done to him. She’d hidden this for so long because she’d been afraid to see that hate in his eyes. The hate that was aimed at her now.

She waited a moment longer. 

“Will you let me explain?”

\--

He sat back, freeing her arms, but she didn’t move yet. Then he pulled himself off her and onto the couch. She watched as he used his arms, rather than putting any weight on his leg; wanted to go to him to help, to see to his wound, but she didn’t move. Finally, he sat back, drawn and weak, and gestured to her. She sat up, rubbing unconsciously at her shoulders, aching where he’d wrenched them back. She moved slowly, unthreateningly, then wrapped her arms around her knees for comfort, looking at the fire now, and not at him. 

“I was Hydra. WAS. Once. I’m not now. But it’s in me, and no one will ever let me forget my past. It’s a taint. A stain on my soul, no matter how I try to redeem myself.” She’s rocking slightly as she speaks, like a child who has had to learn to comfort itself when no one around will care for it.

She sat silently for a moment longer, then continued, talking almost to herself, so the Captain had to strain to hear over the howls of the wind and the crackling fire. It had been a long time since she had someone to open up to. In fact, she never had before.

“I _was_ ; I _am_ ; what’s the difference. I can’t escape my past. But I want to, I want to redeem myself. That’s why I’ll give my mission – give you – my all.” Her voice is ferocious with need and longing, and his clenched fists loosened as he realised there was no threat here; there never had been. And he knew that. He was surprised by his reaction, didn’t understand how he could have doubted her, although he knew it was fear, and anger, directed at Hydra, for what they’d done, and not at her.

“I was raised by Hydra, don’t have a family that I know of, was with them child and adult, ‘til I couldn’t take it anymore. Was on an op, out in the world for a few days on recon. I’d been hating what we did for so long, guess I didn’t know there was an alternative, didn’t let myself know about the real world, or it would have hurt too much when we watched it burn.”

She fed twigs to the fire, slowly. He lowered himself onto the mattress again, his back against the couch, easing his leg out in front of him, so he could hear her. She seemed almost oblivious to his presence, as if she needed to unburden herself and now she had started, she couldn’t stop.

“Saw SHIELD on the news, saw the Avengers, saw Fury, saw you.” A long pause. “I defected, found my way to Fury. He kept me under watch for a long time, got everything I knew out of me, waited to test it all out, but he trusted me, in the end. Trust. I’d never had that before.”

He watched her carefully, saw that she was crying, although she seemed unaware of the tears rolling down her face.

“But it was no good, no matter what I do, I was going to be rejected because of my past. Fury knows this, knows how much I want to right my wrongs, knows I’d die trying. That’s why he put me with you, I guess. I‘d die for Fury too, for the trust he’s put in me; pairing me, Hydra, with you, the epitome of all that’s good.”

She turned towards him now, startled to see how close he was, but couldn’t meet his eyes, ashamed by her admissions, and turned back to the fire again. he stayed still, afraid that any move might stop her now.

“This is where I was raised, the base we were at. I grew up there, that’s why I froze. And you had to save me. And that meant you got hurt, and now it won’t heal. That’s on me, Captain. No matter what I try, there’s always red in my ledger. It’s no wonder people don’t trust me.”

“I do.” He said, quietly. Her back was still turned and so he was unsure if she had even heard. He propped himself up more, sliding towards her without bending his leg. He winced, still in pain and fevered with his wound. The earlier movements, and the painkillers wearing off meant that he was starting to feel a sense of distance from the world again; could feel sweat building although he wasn’t close to the fire. He was aware he was sinking, needed to speak before he went under the wave of pain again. 

“I trust you. And Fury does. Fury paired you with me for more than your skills, more than because you’d die to be forgiven. Fury knows what we all need better than we do.”

The fever was growing and he was becoming delirious. He lay down, unable to hold himself up any more, his last conscious thought was relief that he had managed to speak first, to hope that she believed him, and to hope that he was right, and he could trust her. Then moments dissolved into each other, flashes of lucidity mixed with moments of confusion until he wasn’t sure what was real anymore. 

She had turned to him as he collapsed, had heard his words, and was holding them against her heart, unsure how she’d earnt the trust of the Captain, unaware that although he was a man who gave trust easily, she had long since earnt it after two years of working together. For now though, her energy turned to keeping him alive, but the energy was fired by that trust, not wanting to lose it, or him.

She dipped towels in ice water, wiping away his sweat; tucked blankets around him when he threw them off. And she watched his wound. It wasn’t bleeding, but it looked wrong, unpleasant, the skin puckered and pale. There was no red of infection but the deathly white seemed to be spreading although his other wounds were healing well. Each fevered collapse has been worse than the last, and she didn’t know how much more he could take, how much more she could get him through.

“Steve, don’t die. God don’t die, please Steve.” She tended to him through the night, unaware she was pleading as she worked.


	5. Chapter 5

Ignoring the pull of her own wound, and her exhaustion, she kept a watch through the night on the Captain. Her eyes were drawn repeatedly to his wound, which seemed to be growing worse even as she watched. The skin around the bullet hole was sickly pale, the veins beneath the skin pulsing darkly. In her exhaustion and fear the wound started to feel like a malevolent presence, and she pulled the blanket up to cover it, but anxiety kept her pulling it back, watching it spread.

The captain was barely conscious, sentences tumbling from his mouth but incoherent. He kept trying to sit up, talking about getting out, saving people, needing to fight and it was only thanks to his weakened state that she could push him back down again each time. His hair was dark with sweat, his eyes sunken, and his lips were cracked. Her heart was racing with worry and she felt sick. If he died, what then? He was the symbol for everyone and the hope for her, that she could make amends, and she couldn’t let him die. But something was blocking his serum from working. She’d never seen this before, he’d walked away from fights with broken ribs, knife wounds, bruises, and healed within days. To see him brought so low was terrifying.

She stood for a moment, stretching aching muscles, and saw that the blizzard was slowing. Snow was still falling, but softer, gentler, now, with none of the ferocity the wind had whipped up. She rested her forehead against the cool window for a moment, eyes closed, desperate to rest, but a harsh moan from behind her drew her back to her duties.

She added more wood to the fire, and mixed some of the supersoldier medicine in with some water, shaking the now near-empty bottle as if she could produce more just by wishing it there. She dripped the mixture slowly into his mouth, the Captain frowning at the sensation but swallowing most of it. After a few moments, the sedative, and his own pain, sent him finally into a quieter rest.

Just for a moment, she let herself lie down on the mattress beside him. Muscles shrieked in pain as they relaxed, and she tried to roll her shoulders and loosen her neck. She didn’t want to think about the future, about whether they would be found, about what she would do if she couldn’t heal him, but was just existing moment to moment. She rolled her head side to side, dry eyes blinking, then sat up, aware that if she let herself rest too long, she’d succumb to sleep.

She sat beside the Captain, cross legged, and took a deep breath. A decision had to be made. Leave him here and seek help? Try to create some kind of sled to pull him on? But where to go? She didn’t think he’d survive a journey in the cold, and doubted she could pull him far enough to make a difference. So all she had was here. 

She inspected the wound again, still pale and unhealthily swollen. The Captain was lying unnaturally still now and she had to lean over him to check he was breathing. She rested her head in her hands, pushing dirty hair back from her forehead and rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, then sat up, decision made. Maybe the wrong decision, but the choice to act was better than doing nothing. She felt a slight surge of energy, adrenaline at what she was about to do helping combat the exhaustion.

She built up the fire again, and melted more snow, adding her equipment to the water as it boiled. Sterility almost felt pointless now – either her actions would allow his serum to save him, or he’d die anyway – but going through the routine helped calm her nerves. She lit as many candles as she could, placing them on stools and boxes around the man as if in some strange ritual.

As soon as the water was just cool enough, she plunged her own hands into one of the pots, hissing at the over-hot sensation on her skin, but rubbing her hands as clean as she could. Then she pulled her knife from where it had been sitting in the cooling water, and pulling back the blanket, starting carefully cutting through the stitches on the man’s leg. Each stitch gave way easily to the blade, leaving dents in the bloated flesh. With all the stitches out, she held a candle closer to the wound and peered in, her face close enough that if the man had been awake he’d have felt her breath on his skin.

The wound inside was dark with congealed blood, but as she moved the candle around to see from all angles, she saw a flash as the light flickered on something in the wound. She nodded, as if to assure herself she had seen what she’d feared was there. Her eyes turned to the man, still lying still, breathing fast and shallow. Taking one last look at him, she took up her knife again – a knife designed for killing, not for surgery, with a too-wide blade, but all that she had – and she started to dig into his leg, cutting out pieces of the dead, white flesh, digging down to where she’d seen the glint.

Sweat was dripping down her face, and she had to turn to wipe it on her shoulder, not wanting to stop for a second. She’d dug out dark, thick blood clots, black and slimy, but a cleaner red blood was flowing now. The hole was large, but she wanted to make sure she’d removed all the ill flesh, and dug down a little deeper. The Captain suddenly jerked awake, screaming, as the pain cut through his delirium. She fell back, heart pounding, the noise seeming so loud in the silent cabin. Quickly picking up the glass of medicine, she held it to his mouth, forcing him to gulp it down, then sitting back and watching as the pain was wiped out and he was asleep once more, the lines of his face drawn as his body battled.

Her hands were shaking now with tension as she finally poured more water over the wound to clean it. The water ran red onto the mattress. She wanted to bandage it, to keep it clean and safe, but had nothing. It was too big to stitch now but she knew that she had done all she could. Either the serum would save him now, or nothing would, not while they were out here alone.

Not daring to stop for a rest, she re-covered the Captain in blankets, keeping his wound uncovered but tucking him in. She pushed the hair off his face, resting her hand on his cheek for a moment, then sat again. Breathing in deeply, she set to pulling apart the pieces of the man’s flesh that she had stripped out, hunched over the pan by candlelight, afraid to miss anything. Then she found it. A tiny fragment of the bullet that had hit him, a dull silver, catching the flickering light as her breath made the candle gutter. Forcing herself upright, stiff and shaky, she found the rest of the bullet in the box of matches, put there to be safe, and held the pieces together. Her hands trembled almost too much to tell, but there seemed to be nothing else missing. The bullet was a lump of metal, unlike anything she’d seen before, and other than being misshapen from the impact, the shape was solid and now, complete. 

She allowed herself to sink down onto the mattress again, uncaring of the damp patch of watery blood, allowing herself the luxury of an hour’s rest, knowing that his fate was out of her hands now. She pulled a blanket around herself, setting her watch alarm to wake her, letting her head sink down close to his shoulder, and then she was gone. When the alarm woke her, she startled awake, sitting up, confused and afraid. Light was coming in through the window now as the snow flurries lessened. She took a steadying breath, then turned to check on the captain.

His face was warm, but no warmer than normal, his cheeks looking less hollow and his breathing steady. She inspected his leg, finding the skin was pink again, his serum enhanced body finally able to start the healing process on his wound. She rested her hand on his leg below the wound, and let her eyes close, her head sink down. On an outward breath, she said simply ‘Steve’ as she tried to fight off tears of relief. When she looked up, he was watching her.

“What’s happened?” His voice cracked, throat and lips parched, and she hurriedly moved her hand and busied herself fetching water. “I feel like I’m missing some time.” Just a few hours before he’d been mumbling fever-nonsense, and hearing his voice, steady again, felt like a miracle.

She explained, filling in the gaps in his memory. It seemed that most of the last few days had almost gone, as if his fevered brain hadn’t formed memories properly. She didn’t know if he remembered what she’d confessed, didn’t ask. 

“The bullet, it did something to you. I… I’m sorry. I missed it the first time.” He shook his head, still weak but gaining serum-fed strength every minute.

“We’d just fought a close fight we weren’t expecting. You half carried me here, you were injured yourself, then you performed surgery by candlelight? I reckon I can forgive you.” He grinned at her, his eyes bright again, and she couldn’t resist smiling back, exhaustion and relief a heady mix. “God, I’m starving though…” She smiled again as he eyed her hopefully, and she stood.

Opening cans of beef and potatoes, she made a stew and warmed water to drink, serving him everything from the pan, but he noticed and insisted she eat too. They sat on the mattress, leaning on the couch, legs outstretched towards the fire. Both gulped down the food, blowing out air to cool as they ate too-hot mouthfuls, only noticing their hunger fully as they started to eat. Finally, replete, they continued to sit.

“The storm is dying down,” he pointed out, then shuffled over to put more wood on the fire, still not bending his leg, trying not to re-open the already healing wound. The wood pile, all the wood they’d been able to carry just a day ago, was already starting to run low. The cold away from the fire was bone deep now though, the snow outside the window piled high and soft. Neither of them talked about their chances, instead making vague plans about how they could set out in the morning, making a carrier out of blankets, taking dry wood and tins, but they both knew that snow was too deep and they were trapped.  
Face to face now with their own mortality, they talked. Talked about Hydra, about the wars they’d fought, and the ones they were fighting in their heads. Gradually slipping down, until they were lying, wrapped in blankets and coats, on the mattress, their bodies angled towards each other and somehow shifted closer, warmth calling to warmth. Their voices were quiet, heads leaning in to hear. They talked through the night, not knowing what tomorrow would bring, or how many more days they would have. At points, one or other would drift off to sleep but the biting cold or a movement from the other would waken them, and they’d talk more.

By the early hours of the morning, they were shoulder to shoulder, under a pile of blankets, knowing it was better to share all the warmth than to divide it between them. She was exhausted now from days of struggle; the Captain tired but becoming stronger with every passing minute. A grey light was coming in through the window now, enough to see that the sky was full of threatening clouds, and another snowstorm was ahead. The wood pile was low, the food supplies low.

The Captain turned his head to speak to her, at the same time as she turned to him. Their faces were close enough that even in the dim light, she could see the colour of his eyes. His gaze met her eyes, then he glanced down, as if at her lips, and she felt her cheeks warm despite the cold. If she was anyone else, facing the thought of a cold hard death, she would have leant forward then and kissed him. But she wasn’t. She was Hydra. And he was all that was good. She turned her face back, staring at the ceiling, focusing on the cold ache in her wound, and he watched her withdraw into herself. She could feel his eyes on her still before he too turned to look up, letting out a quiet sigh.

They lay, side by side but distant, for a while longer, then the silence was broken by the sound of an aircraft overhead. Heads turning, their eyes met again. Whose was it?


	6. Chapter 6

For a moment, neither moved, then without speaking, they were both on their feet and readying themselves. Wounds were forgotten, exhaustion ignored, adrenaline pumping, preparing for the worst while hoping for the best. She grabbed her knife, still decorated with trails of the Captain’s blood, wiped it on her uniform trousers. The Captain had lost his shield back at the Hydra base, and she hadn’t been able to carry it. Now he looked incomplete somehow, readying for a fight without it. She threw him the gun she carried, wanting him to have the greater protection, but their preparations seemed inadequate as the noise of the aircraft grew louder. 

They limped together to the window, carefully pulling back the curtain but unable to see yet. The plane must be overhead, eddies of snow whirring as an unseen engine blew down on them. A vibration, felt through the floor, and the noise changed, as the plane landed. Eyes meeting, the Captain nodded his head in the direction of the back of the cabin, indicating where it had landed. She nodded back. There were no windows at the back, so still they waited. The engine powered down and the quiet returned. No voices, no movement. The Captain caught her eye again, but not to give an order this time. He nodded slowly, once, a half-smile on his lips. She knew what he meant. A thank you, a good bye, in case they were overwhelmed. She smiled back, gripping the knife, then froze. A creak, a footstep outside on the porch, then another. The Captain pressed himself against the wall, peering through a slit of the curtain. Her heart felt loud in her chest. Another footstep. Then with a crash, the Captain had flung the door open and run out. The movement was so sudden she didn’t have time to react before a loud noise from outside made her jump, and she too ran out, ready to fight.

And stopped. The Captain had his arms around someone, but not to fight. He stepped back, releasing the figure, and she knew who it was. As the adrenaline left her, she leant back against the wall of the cabin. All the tension, the hunger, the pain, the cold, suddenly she felt it all, now that she didn’t have to be strong any more. She rested her head back, shut her eyes for a moment, unnoticed. Opened them again as the noise grew louder, another person had joined the group now, clustered around the Captain, relieved and enthusiastic to find him safe and well. She was too tired to listen to what they were saying, and stepped back inside away from the cold. She stood for a moment, then realised they’d be leaving soon, needed to act. She dumped a bucket of snow on the fire, not wanting the cabin to burn down after it had given them shelter. She noted what needed replacing, planning to send a requisition when they returned, to restock the cabin ready for the next person whose life it might save. What had started to feel like the only safe haven in a hostile world suddenly now looked dirty, small. She ran her fingers through her hair, realised that she too was still covered in the dust and blood of battle. 

Hearing her name called, she reached down and picked up the two bullet fragments, dropping them into the now empty bottle of medicine and carefully screwing the lid on. She walked out, pulling the broken door closed and then paused. The Captain and his friends, his team, were standing at the far end of the porch. His arm was around the Sergeant’s – his best friend’s - shoulders now, a better height for him than leaning on her again. Ms Romanoff was bending down, poking at the wound on his leg, which was already healing well, and the Captain was laughing and trying to pull away. He saw her standing, waiting, waved her over with his free arm.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here! Real food, warmth, a shower, it’s all calling my name!” She smiled, followed them at a distance as they walked to the back of the cabin, and onto the jet.

Taking a seat at the back of the plane, she strapped herself in, holding the bottle tightly in both hands. She watched from under lowered eyelids, as the group made their way to the front of the plane and prepared for take-off. The hubbub of conversation washed over her, close to tears with exhaustion now, her part in the Captain’s life over, the thought of the debrief for a failed mission, and then back to her lonely life, ahead. Her hand went to her side, came away wet with blood again. Her head lowered and she turned the bottle over and over between her hands, focussing on the rhythmic rattle of the two unknown fragments against the glass.

So focussed on the glass, exhaustion clouding her mind, she didn’t hear the Captain’s busy conversation with his friends, all talking over one another, sounds overlapping in their excitement. The mission aftermath; how they’d found him. A laugh of pleasure as he saw his shield on the table. Chatter about his wound, about how they’d survived. So she missed seeing him turn to look at her, explaining how she’d saved his life, nursed him through the nights, fed him, treated his injuries. She didn’t see any of the approving or grateful glances, eyes brimming and seeing only the bullet sliding back and forth in the bottle. She sat at the back of the plane, strapped in, for the whole journey. Sergeant Barnes had insisted the Captain take the pilot’s seat although even with his superhealing, he was in no fit state to fly the plane. She dozed at one point, head nodding forward then jerking upright, looking around wildly in surprise at not seeing wooden walls and candlelight. She wished she was back in the cabin; it would be less lonely there than here in the jet full of people.

The flight back to the compound was just a few hours at the jet’s speed. The plane grew quiet as the hysteria and relief gradually gave way to weariness in all of them – the Sergeant and Ms Romanoff had been searching for days with little respite too and were drained. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, hands still gripping the bottle tightly. 

When they landed, the silence was broken by a flurry of people, everyone wanting to see the prodigal son returned. The Captain stepped down from the plane slowly, leg still stiff although it was at last healing well. His team, the hand-picked Avengers, surrounded him, the sun lighting a sea of smiling, relieved, faces. She stepped out behind them, hand clutched to her side and stood a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun after days of bitter cold. She looked up to see Fury watching her, his face neutral as always. She nodded and started to walk away, wanting to get to the medlab to brief the doctors, ensure they kept a close eye on the Captain. He was already walking away, arm around Sergeant Barnes’ shoulder, heading for the base.

“I need a mission report from you,” she ducked her head, drew in a steadying breath, and turned to look at Fury. “But I reckon it can wait. You need a shower and I’m guessing you need medical treatment.”

“I need to brief the doctors on the Captain, there’s something wrong with his wound. And I need to get this bullet to Banner. Or Stark. It did something to him….” Her words were rushed, desperately trying to convey her urgency, her fear that if she didn’t tell everyone, everything, that something might be missed and they could lose him.

“No. You need medical treatment and a shower, and some food, and some sleep.” She started to protest and he held up a hand, cutting her off. “Ok, OK, medical treatment, short debrief, shower, food.” She would normally give in to orders but when it came to her mission, it was too deep in her soul to risk any failing.

“Medical treatment _while_ I have a debrief.” Fury barked out a laugh and nodded, then turned and walked beside her into the compound.

The Captain was already in the medlab when they got there, his friends sent away while he was treated. He was reassured to see her arrive not long after him. He’d turned as he left the plane, tried to call her to come with him, but she’d been talking with Fury and hadn’t heard. He was afraid she would think he had forgotten her, but his friends had borne him away, pressuring him to be seen to. He’d filled them in on the plane, on his injury, on how she’d cut the bullet fragment out, saved him, and he knew that the word would spread amongst his team – what one knew, the rest soon would. They’d assured him that they’d get her treated too but Fury had already brought her. He saw her walking down the corridor past his room, startled to see how shrunken she looked now. In the cabin, when she was fighting for their survival – for his survival – she hadn’t seemed afraid to take up space, to assert herself. Now she hunched over, looking as if she was trying to become invisible. She had her hand still pressed to her side, head down, and looked grey with tiredness. He felt guilt, ridiculous though it was, and determined to find her, just as soon as they let him leave.

Fury settled her into a room next to the Captain’s, and assured her he would find the right people to take her debrief. In the meantime, a nurse cut away her uniform top – or what was left of it – revealing the extent of her injuries. The knife wound was inflamed, red with infection, as she’d feared. She’d felt the sharp tug of foul flesh all day, ignored it. Bright bruises spread across her ribs and arms, reminders of the fights they’d had in the base. A layer of grime, stale sweat and dried blood, overlaid it all and she felt ashamed.

The nurse carried on working, cleaning her wounds, undoing her attempted stitches, as she lay in silence, then cleaned her arm and inserted an IV line full of antibiotics. He left the room after pulling a blanket over her, and she lay in silence again.

It was only a few minutes later that Fury returned, accompanied by a group of people. She recognised some faces – Stark, Dr Banner – others she guessed were doctors and nurses from their dress. It was overwhelming to have so many eyes on her and she unconsciously pulled the blankets higher. Her bare arms showed the extent of her injuries though, and the bruising did not go unnoticed.

“OK, you wanted a debrief, you got one. I hear you have an infected knife wound that needs treating, you have five minutes to talk, then you rest. That is an order.” Fury nodded at her to begin.

She gabbled first, then took a breath, wanting to get the right information across. She explained about the bullet, how she’d removed it but missed some. She described the Captain’s symptoms: the fever, the delirium, the white, corrupted flesh spreading from the wound. They questioned her, surely the serum had taken care of his injuries, and she shook her head, desperate that they understand the danger he had been in.

“I had some of the medicine you made, Dr Banner, I think that was all that kept him going. He’d revive for a bit but as it wore off, he’d sink again. If it hadn’t been for you, your medicine, I don’t think…” her voice tailed off.

“He seems OK now though.” One of the doctors, seeming to doubt her story. She doubted it herself, how could a supersoldier be so affected by a single bullet wound.

“I thought he was going to die. I cut out all the dead flesh, found a bit of a bullet that I’d missed.” She was still clutching the bottle with the bullet fragments inside. “I’m sorry. I missed it first time. Stupid.” She muttered the last under her breath but it was noted by most of the people in the room. “Once it was out, I cleaned the wound, but it was if the serum wasn’t blocked any more, it started to heal. But please, check it, check he’s OK.”

She could see Stark and Banner eager to get their hands on the bullet fragments, and she passed over the bottle, watching as Stark held it up to the light and they both peered in, talking excitedly about their plans.

“OK, that’s enough. She’s injured too. Everyone out.” Fury ushered the group to the door, leaving one doctor in the room to treat her. Before everyone left, he turned, speaking loudly enough that everyone heard. “It was more than Bruce’s medicine that kept Cap alive. You need to remember that.” She felt all eyes look at her, seeing her for herself, for more than a debrief about the Captain, for the first time, and flushed under the weight of their scrutiny. Then Fury had pushed the group out and the door swung shut.

The doctor pulled back the blanket, frowning at her wound, and she let her head sink back and put herself into the hands of someone else for a moment. The treatment was uncomfortable, despite pain relief, but it was only a short time later that the doctor left. Her wound had been cleaned and re-stitched, another scar to add to the mass already on her body. She was told to stay in the medlab for 24 hours for observation, was given food, pain relief, was warm and safe. But with no mission now to do, the time passed slowly. Other than a nurse coming in to check her temperature, adjust her IV, barely making eye contact, she was left alone. She heard voices coming from the room next door throughout the day and into the night, knowing it was the Captain, glad that he was well enough for visitors but the sound of laughter cut through her. She turned on her uninjured side, pulling the blankets up for comfort, and tried to sleep.

Fury had been in to talk to the Captain, had been given a much more detailed debrief, the Captain recovering his strength every minute. The doctors had insisted he stay in the medlab as well, to observe his wound, and he’d been scanned and X-rayed to ensure every bullet fragment was now removed. The wound was healing well – another few days and there would be just a patch of newer pink skin to show where it had been, before that too faded to nothing. He felt dirty, frustrated, constrained by the room, wanting to move, but still tired from hunger and exhaustion. He ate well, always grateful for a full plate and a warm room after a childhood where he often did without. And throughout the day, his friends, his team, dropped in. Each one wanted to know how on earth THE Captain America had ended up wounded, and each one had heard the full story of the bullet wound, its effect on him, and how if it hadn’t been for the medic, he’d be dead. Bucky had laughed out loud at the story of the Captain limping along with a walking stick, unable to carry wood. Natasha had been intrigued by the medic’s abilities, and they’d all been so thankful for her presence, for saving their friend. Steve didn’t give away her secret, one of the few clear memories he had of their days in the cabin, not knowing how everyone would react. All his team wanted to go and thank her, find out more, they were inquisitive and friendly and the Captain felt protective. 

“Let her rest. She got hurt too, knife wound. Plus, she’s been putting up with me for days now. She needs her sleep, and she’s probably got her own friends visiting. Wait till we’re all outta here, then you can all descend on her.” He grinned at them, relieved to be back among friends, glad to have made a new one. And on the other side of the wall, his new friend lay silently and alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Although she was supposed to stay in the medlab for 24 hours, she rose early the next morning and left. She’d slept fitfully, waking up every time she rolled onto her injured side, catching her IV awkwardly, restless. Her body ached with tiredness but she couldn’t sleep there, she wanted to be in her own space now.

Around 4am, she gave up on tossing and turning and got up. She cleaned her hands and removed the IV, bandaging the hole quickly. She was still wearing just a hospital gown, her filthy and damaged uniform having been taken away. As a medic she luckily knew where the supplies were and so she was able to grab some scrubs from a closet, unseen by the nurse on duty. Barefoot, she made her way to the elevator, and out of the building, heading for the residential block. There was no one around as she walked outside, heading for her small room. She’d heard that the Avengers had their own apartments somewhere in the compound but for the general staff, there were small rooms and the canteen and rec room, but she was happy just to have somewhere her own. Somewhere she could lock the door and feel safe.

Being Stark-designed, all the rooms were opened by a retinal scan, not a key (a fact that had caused Fury to glower at Stark when he first heard), lucky as she’d lost everything she’d had with her when she last left this room just a few days before. She stepped inside, feeling the warmth of carpet under her feet, turning the lights on low, and shut the door behind her. She leant against it for a moment, feeling its solid security against her back. For the first time in days, she was truly alone. No cabin with the Captain, no jet with the team, no medlab and its personnel. She felt less lonely now than she had done for days. Heading first for the small bathroom, she turned the shower on hot, then peeled off the scrubs and stepped in. Her medical training told her not to get her wound wet, but every human instinct was begging to be clean. She stood, head bowed, under the water, letting the spray beat down on her aching shoulders, tensed up with worry for too long. She watched as the water at her feet turned pink as dried blood washed off, then, wincing with the movement, scrubbed her hair and body clean, roughly.

Finally satisfied that she’d washed away the physical results of the failed mission, she stepped out, wrapping a towel around her head and reaching for a robe on the back of the door. As she stretched out, her eye was caught by her reflection, mimicking her stretch. She paused, then wiped her hand across the mirror to clear away the steam. Her image was revealed in stripes as her hand moved, stripes covered in scars and bruises. She no longer noticed the scars, results of too many missions for both Hydra and SHIELD, but the bruises added a colourful counterpoint to the pale scars now. She turned to one side, eyeing the fresh cut, the first time she’d been able to see it clearly. The doctor had done a better job of stitching than she’d managed, but with the flesh still swollen and red, it wasn’t a pretty sight. She made a mental note to go back to the doctor for antibiotics in the morning, then pulled on pyjamas and climbed into bed, hair still damp and uncombed. Her own bed, away from watching eyes. This had felt a luxury since she first defected to SHIELD, used as she was to the constant surveillance of Hydra. She’s suspected that Fury was having her watched when she first arrived – she expected it – but the day he admitted it, by telling her he’d had the cameras removed, was the day he won her unfailing loyalty. The trust he’d placed in her, she was determined to find a way to thank him.

And so, at last, alone and unwatched, she fell asleep.

The Captain had slept better in the medlab, his leg wound barely bothering him now, and no sense that anything was wrong to test his conscience. He slept later than he usually did, not waking until gone 7 when a doctor arrived to check on him. The serum had worked its wonders overnight, the wound almost fully healed, and the doctor bowed to the inevitable when the Captain refused to stay any longer, promising to check back if anything felt wrong, even as he climbed out of bed. He too was in a hospital gown but there were no scrubs large enough to fit, and so he called the Sergeant to bring him some clothes, and then paced while he waited.

He realised this was an ideal time to talk to her, to thank her properly for all she’d done, now that the danger had passed, so headed into the corridor and to the room next door to his. The door was open, an orderly inside stripping the bed and clearing up equipment. For a moment a frown crossed his face, then the orderly turned and saw him, nodding politely.

“She left, if you’re looking for her, earlier this morning, middle of the night practically.”

He turned back towards his own room, saw his friend approaching with an armful of clothes, intending to dress and seek her out.

“Here, had to argue with Jarvis to get him to let me into your room, damn Stark tech!” Bucky passed over the bundle, then rolled his eyes and dramatically stepped back. “Sheesh Steve, I’m begging you, go shower, you’ll ruin every kid’s hero fantasy if you smell like you spent three days rolling in muck. And when we all know all you did was lie around in a log cabin in the woods with just a pretty girl for company!” He smiled at his friend, and Steve grinned back, pulling his clothes on and then grimacing at the truth of the statement.

“God yes, shower sounds good Buck!” Steve almost groaned with pleasure at the thought, then added “Shower, and food. Lots of food. You get some food going while I clean up?” They headed back to Steve’s apartment and he decided to call her when they arrived, invite her to join them for breakfast.

When they got to the apartment, the Captain asked Jarvis to connect him to her room, but the phone rang out without answer. Assuming she was doing as he was – showering, or eating, or resting – he left it for the moment and headed to the shower, gratefully scrubbing himself clean much as she had a few hours before. As he stepped out, the savoury scent of bacon and coffee hit his nose and his stomach growled with pleasure. 

She’d slept well, sheer exhaustion finally taking over from the noise in her head, sleeping through the sound of her phone, through the alarm that went off each day, finally stirring when hunger woke her. Her movements were slow, sluggish, as she pulled herself out of bed and blearily into the bathroom. The mirror showed tangled hair, bleary eyes, and she checked again at her wound, noting that the inflammation seemed to be getting worse. A quick shower and she would head out for some food and then straight back to the medlab.

Dressing and pulling a comb through tangled hair, she braced herself to face the compound and all its people. It was hard to find silence in such a crowd and yet somehow she always seemed to be alone. She was unsure now, after so long if she ate and worked out alone because she preferred it, or because she had no choice. She’d always felt people could tell she was Hydra, so kept herself to herself. She didn’t want, didn’t dare, to get friendly. How would she answer questions about family, background, past, when there was so much that had to be kept hidden? So it was easier to sit alone, silently, and tell herself it was a choice, although she feared always that her past was known and she was hated for it. In the canteen, she grabbed a meal quickly, sat at a window with her back to the room, head down, and ate fast.

Clearing up after herself, she headed out to go to the lab, her wounded side feeling hot and tender to the touch. It was afternoon by now, she realised, having slept through the morning, and the disorientation of losing so many hours added to her odd sensation, not realising that she was starting to become feverish with the infection.

As she was about to leave the canteen, a voice came over the PA system. Fury’s voice. It was rare for him to make an announcement and everyone looked up and listened instinctively. She paused in the doorway, on alert, expecting to hear of a mission, or an invasion. But instead, she heard her own name.

‘Please report to my office for a full debrief. Immediately’. 

She felt eyes turn towards her, voices whisper, discussing what had led to Fury calling a medic in like that. She put her head down, pushed out of the canteen quickly, all thoughts of her wound forgotten as she fled, feeling the gossiping voices chasing her down the corridor.

She’d not been to Fury’s office before. He’d met her in holding cells, in bare offices and empty rooms, where he’d questioned her relentlessly about all she knew of Hydra. He’d sought her out in laboratories, hospital wings, her own quarters, letting her know he was watching, and then finally telling her he wasn’t going to watch any more. She’d been aware that he’d always taken an interest in what she was doing. She would see him out of the corner of her eye as she worked on occasion, but turning her head would just see his back as he walked away. A secret part of her had taken pride in the fact that he’d marked her for special attention, not understanding why but more determined than ever that each time he saw her, she would be doing her best, justifying his trust. And now she had been summoned to his office, to his space, to talk about how she had failed him.

Her lunch sat heavy in her stomach, her palms felt clammy although she felt sweat trickling down her back. There was no justification for her failure. Would she be asked to leave? Would he think he’d misplaced his trust? She breathed in sharply, straightened her back, and knocked at his door, then entered at his call.

“Take a seat please,” he gestured but she shook her head. 

“I’ll stand. I owe you a report.” She was ramrod straight, eyes dead ahead avoiding his gaze. In contrast, Fury was sitting behind his desk, one leg crossed over the other knee, chin resting on his hand.

“As you wish.” She could hear a smile in his voice, refused to look down. “Very well, begin.”

Mechanically, methodically, she set out the facts. The time they’d set out, her position in the jet, her equipment and weapons. She paused a moment, then continued.

“When we landed, it felt familiar. Then when we got into the base, I knew where we were. It was where I’d lived. There had been some changes, that’s why I hadn’t recognised it straight away, but I knew it.” She could hear the strain in her own voice, cleared her throat to try and regain control. She felt sweat trickle down her forehead but refused to move to wipe it away.

“Saw a face I recognised. I… froze. I couldn’t think what to do. And by doing that, I put Captain Rogers in danger. He acted selflessly to protect me. He shouldn’t have been put in that position and it was my fault. And he was hurt. Shot, protecting me.”

She paused again then met Fury’s gaze head on. He was still sitting, relaxed, but she knew he was taking in every word

“I’m sorry. I failed sir. I failed the mission, Captain Rogers, you. My actions came close to causing Captain Rogers’ death.” Another pause, the length of a heartbeat, and then a quieter, broken voice. “I’m sorry.”

Fury uncrossed his legs, stood, unhurriedly, his arms behind his back now. He observed her silently, inscrutably.

“Captain Rogers, he’s alive?”

“Well, yes, but injured, and he nearly didn’t…”

“Will he heal fully, and live to fight another day?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then I do not see how your mission failed. There was no loss of personnel. You carried out your medical duties admirably. You have brought back information on new Hydra technology.” Now Fury paused. “Or is there any information you haven’t told me?”

“I caused this! It’s on me! I... let my emotions get the better of me.”

Fury sat again, ignoring the frantic tone in her voice. He picked up some paper from his desk, started studying it.

“About damn time you did. Dismissed.”

 

With the Captain back on his feet, healthy and well, he was bombarded with a stream of visitors, both personal and professional, during the time she was eating and facing Fury. His team mates visited, checking that he was healing still, and then making themselves at home in his apartment. There were calls from Stark and Banner, wanting to run tests, talking excitedly about the metal of the bullet. He cut them off, promising to turn up later. His leg was almost healed, but felt stiff with disuse, and he was aware that he still hadn’t had a chance to speak to her since they’d left the jet the day before. He listened to the chatter of his team mates a moment longer then stood, testing his leg strength as he did so.

“I need to move; I’m going for a walk. Feel free to stay here, in my home, while I’m gone. I say that since I know already that you will…” He grinned at his friends, glad still that he was here, and well, pulled on shoes and a familiar leather jacket, and left. He had already asked Jarvis for her room number, and headed over to the apartment block, accepting greetings and thanks from passers-by as he went, waving his thanks as they congratulated him on his recovery, calling out that it was all down to her, as he went. He reached her room and knocked, frowning when there was no reply, not knowing she was walking back from seeing Fury as he stood there. He moved down the corridor and knocked on the next door along, surprising the man living inside – another medic, one he recognised vaguely.

“Can I borrow a pen and paper; I need to leave a note.”

The man nodded, welcomed him in and shut the door, adding his pleasure at seeing the Captain well, when they’d all heard terrible rumours when they’d gone missing.

“All down to your next door neighbour you know,” the Captain said as he wrote a note, folded the paper over. He didn’t know how to express his thanks on paper, wanted to speak to her face to face. “She saved my life.” Word was spreading of her actions; with each person the Captain saw now.

Stepping back out into the corridor, thanking the man again, he didn’t realise that she was home by now. He slid the note under her door, confusing her as she saw the paper appear while she sat on her bed. She bent, picked it up, had to pause a moment as she straightened, hand pressed to her side as her wound throbbed, reminding her that she still hadn’t made it back for some antibiotics. She pulled the door open once she’d caught her breath, seeing a familiar shape turning the corner, her medical attention caught by the easy way he was walking, his wound obviously not troubling him. She thought of calling out to him, but it was already too late as she thought, so shut the door again, and opened the note. The handwriting was elegant, the tone formal, a CO to a minor, unimportant, medic.

‘Came to see you were well, 1800hours. Captain Rogers’

His sense of duty came across in the stiff wording, and she put the note down quickly, trying to block from her mind the memory of the long dark night when they’d thought they were going to die, when they’d opened up and something had changed. She must have misinterpreted, misread the signs. She lay down again. Her wound was troubling her, but she felt too drained to make the trip back to the other building for treatment. Just a short rest first and she’d make it.

As he walked back to his own apartment, his phone beeped. He pulled it out of his jacket pocket, saw a message from Fury asking him to attend in the council chambers, at his earliest convenience. He smiled wryly, knowing that Fury meant immediately, and changed direction.

On arriving at the council room, the Captain was surprised to see the screen showing members of the newly formed council, rarely convened now. As she had done just a few hours earlier, his posture straightened, military bearing showing as she prepared himself. Fury nodded on seeing him, welcoming him in and gesturing him to a chair. Again, unknowingly mimicking her, he remained standing, sensing from the faces of the Council that they were displeased with something. He folded his arms, muscles bulging through his shirt, face set.

The Council chair spoke first, but within minutes all three members were interjecting, displeasure at the danger he had been in coming through clearly. And it was clear where they lay the blame for his close call, for the days spent tracking him, for the risk he had been in. they were all aware that he was more than simply a soldier, that he was a symbol and couldn’t afford to be lost.

“What went wrong? Was she to blame?” The questions all boiled down to this. By now, his temper was up, although he maintained his normal mild exterior. Fury, who had come to stand beside him, giving his support, recognised the signs that his temper was increasing, his hands now bunched into fists, a vein in his neck pulsing.

“She saved my life. If I’m so damn important, she deserves a goddamn medal. She did nothing wrong.”

The Council chair asked him to leave the room, saying they need to discuss some high-level information with Fury, and he laughed, standing unmoving and refusing to leave.

“No. I know the truth about her, she told me herself, so if you’ve got anything to say, you can say it in front of me.” His voice was louder now with anger. “You put her in that situation, someone here approved that mission, sending her back there, where she’d been through god knows what in Hydra’s hands, and you expect her not to react? ‘d like to see you hold it together.”

“Director Fury, I must insist…”

“I’m sorry, but I think we’re done here.” Fury reached over, pressed a button, and the screens turned black. He turned to the Captain, on his side but knowing they were not done, that there was another battle to be had. “So she told you she’s Hydra?”

There was a pause, and Fury could see the Captain’s jaw clenching as he gathered his thoughts. Fury waited, looking relaxed as ever.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me she was ex-Hydra? You put me in charge of a mission and give me team members without full disclosure, anything could have happened? And who the hell approved her going back to that base? That poor kid probably went through hell there. And why did you put her with us anyway? I’m glad you did but I sure as hell want to know your thinking there Nick.” His voice had got louder as he spoke, hands now jammed in trouser pockets as if to restrain them. 

“Are you done?” Fury’s voice was quiet and controlled and it caused the Captain to take a breath for a moment, then nod.

“You have experience of this kind of thing Cap. Your big thing kinda is ex-Hydra isn’t it? Way I see it, there’s two of your closest team that have that kinda background and yet you never hold it against Barnes or Romanoff.” The Captain’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he acknowledged the logic in Fury’s thoughts, angry still that he hadn’t been taken into his confidence though.

“Seemed like it was time to add another to the list Steve. I know plenty about her background, and she deserves a second chance. If she can win over Captain America, she can win over anyone.”

The Captain took in another big breath, re-crossed his arms. His anger was always quick to face, and he could see the truth in what Fury was saying.

“Word gets out that she’s ex-Hydra, it’s not going to be easy to make friends, and god knows she doesn’t make it easy on herself. Think she hates herself more for her past than anyone else ever will. But you, Barnes, Romanoff, she sees it can be done, getting over that past. I figured you were the best one to help her out.

“You should have told me. My team. I should know. I told you not to keep me in the dark after the last time you assigned Sharon Carter to watch me.”

Fury nodded, acknowledging this.

“And you know she says she’d die for the mission, for your trust, for me?”

The Director sighed.

“I know. It’s like she’s taken all that conditioning to be loyal to Hydra and switched it straight here. I’m working on that. There’s too much about vengeance and penance at the moment. She needs to realise there’s a balance. Like Barnes, like Romanoff.”

All the anger had dissipated now. The Captain smiled at his friend, not agreeing with his methods but approving of his intent.

“You do know they’re not the healthiest of role models, right?”

By the time the Captain left the Council chambers, it was late into the evening. Most people were heading towards the canteen, to the rec room, planning for their evening, but he headed back to his apartment, wanting space to think, and quiet to try and ring her again. In her own room, she had woken now, concerned about her wound. She dressed, headed out towards the medical building again, head down. She was aware of eyes on her, her paranoia telling her that the truth was out. She told the Captain, perhaps he had told everyone ese. She heard people whispering as she walked by, sensed people pointing and talking and felt tears well up in her eyes. She was unaware that word had spread that she was the one that saved the Captain, that she’d become a hero in the eyes of many. She’d deny it even if she did know, remembering only that it was her fear that caused him to be shot in the first place.

Walking with her head low, she turned into the medical corridor and walked straight into a group of med students coming the other way. She lifted her head to apologise then froze as one young woman recognised her and stammered out ‘oh my god, you’re the one…!’ Her face dropped and she turned, pushing back out through the door, feeling as if she could hear the accusations following her. She didn’t hear them talking, not about her past, but about her actions. Feeling too vulnerable, her emotions too raw, she went back to her apartment, slumping back onto the bed. She caught sight of the Captain’s note again and wondered why he had come to her apartment when he could have requested she attend him. Perhaps he wanted to discuss her reassignment, which she assumed would come as soon as she was fit to work again; his sense of honour would perhaps suggest he carry out unpleasant duties in more private surroundings. The thought of reassignment, of starting again, made her want to cry again, but she knew it made sense. She was too much of an unknown, a risk, to pair up with the Captain and his team again. She had come to know them all over the last few years, had treated them all, and felt a sense of pride whenever she saw one of them walking safely around, knowing she had contributed, and would miss them. 

The Captain had reached his home and tried to ring her again, with no success. He asked Jarvis to locate her and on hearing that she was walking towards the medical building, decided to walk over himself. There were numerous messages from Stark and Banner requesting – no, begging – him to come over and let them run some tests with the bullet fragments. He headed back out, thinking of what he’d like to say when they finally spoke: of his gratitude, his understanding, his friendship. On calling into the medical floor, he was surprised to hear that she hadn’t arrived there and wondering what had changed her mind, but having promised to head to Banner’s lab, he felt obliged not to let his friends down. The rest of the evening was spent, reluctantly, in the lab. They drew blood, took samples of his wound, measured vital functions, poured over computer screens and microscopes until eventually he told them he’d had enough, waved, and left. He wasn’t sure they noticed. Looking at the time, he realised it was too late now to call her again, and the Captain felt a rush of annoyance and guilt that a day had passed without speaking to her.

The morning of the next day saw her waking at the same time as the Captain, in their respective beds. He felt back to full strength now, swung himself out of bed full of plans for the day, body bursting with energy. He showered, dressed, and set off at a brisk walk for her apartment, determined to finally speak to her. At the same time, she sat up in bed and watched the room spin. She felt sore, low, her head throbbing and lips dry but the fever burning through her had sapped her ability to think straight. She sat on the edge of the bed and fell into a doze, body shutting down, woken only by a knock at the door.

Sliding off the bed, and gasping as the movement caused her wound to send knifeblades of pain through her body, she walked gingerly to the door and pulled it open.

“Finally! I was trying to speak to you all day!” The Captain beamed with pleasure at seeing her, then took in her appearance. Her eyes were red-rimmed and unfocussed, as she stood silently, not answering him. He wasn’t sure, trying to meet her gaze, if she even knew he was there. Her skin was pale but an unhealthy rash was spreading up her neck from inside her shirt. He reached for her as he saw her sway on her feet, and could feel her heart racing as he put his arm around her, surprised by the heat coming off her skin against his. She sagged against him, knees giving way and he picked her up easily, cradling her against his chest. Gently, he lifted the side of her t-shirt to expose the knife wound. Hot angry flesh was swollen around the now-gaping cut, dark red streaks leading off from the wound. He’d seen this before. Blood poisoning – sepsis. He’d seen it in one of the men taken by Hydra during the war. A wound left untreated, uncleaned. The man had died.


	8. Chapter 8

Perhaps it was inevitable. Her wound had been left untreated, stitched in dirty conditions with poorly cleaned equipment. It had been torn open repeatedly and her body had been given no time to rest and heal. An infection was bound to set in. And leaving the medlab early, then failing to return for antibiotics – not her fault, Fury had distracted her, then her own anxieties had been a stumbling block – of course an infection would take hold, and hard. Recriminations were pointless, although Fury and the Captain, the team, the doctors, they all felt to blame. Whenever something like this happened – a wound, an accident, a death - people searched back through their actions. If I’d acted sooner, could we… If I’d tried something different, would we…

Fury and the Captain sat quietly together, the rest of the team having long since gone back to their own apartments. But to Fury and the captain, she’d been more than just a team member, although neither of them could define to each other, let alone to themselves, why or how that had happened. So they simply sat, in silence, in the medlab’s office, not wanting to leave. Occasionally one would start to speak, but there was nothing to say.

“I should have made her rest. She looked after me too much.”

“I shouldn’t have sent her to that base. This is on me.”

And so they sat. Hours passed and they barely moved. Then the door opened.

“Why are you still here? I told you all hours ago that there was nothing anyone could do now except wait and yet you’re both sitting here as if she’s already dead. There’s no point in being here. Go, go on!” Only an exhausted doctor could get away with talking to these two men like that. A doctor battling to save a patient with severe sepsis and close to death.

She stood, waiting, one eyebrow raised impatiently, and the two men rose and walked out of the room. Fury started walking down the corridor, brow furrowed but back straight. The captain though, paused, turned back to the doctor.

“Can I see her first?”

The doctor sighed but knew that he’d refuse to leave if she said no, so nodded, and gestured down the corridor, the opposite way to Fury’s departing form, to the small intensive care area.

She’d been put straight into intensive care when the Captain had burst through the doors carrying her. She was unresponsive, almost unconscious except for delirious ramblings. Pale and clammy, a rash climbing her neck, spreading its dark spots almost as they watched. The doctors were used to treating gunshots, training injuries, accidents, but this was one of the most serious cases they had had, and the Captain could see in their eyes that this was one battle they feared they couldn’t win.

He stood outside her room for a moment, watching through the observation window. She lay, utterly still, at last having the rest she needed but too late. An oxygen mask obscured her face, a heart monitor reassuringly measured her life. IV lines flooded her body with fluids, antibiotics, while tubes from under the blanket drained her abdomen. She was too still, too silent, lost to him for now, perhaps for good.

He turned to the nurse’s station, caught someone’s eye.

“Can I go in?”

They gave him a mask, cap, hand gel, all precautionary as he couldn’t carry infections, and he entered, sitting beside her. As the door swung shut behind him, all external noise was cut off and all he could hear were sounds indicating her life. The hiss of the oxygen mask, drip of the IV line, beep of the monitor. These showed she was alive, but they weren’t her, her life was more than this. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat. The doctor, passing the window, watched and accepted he would be a permanent fixture for as long as she was here.

He didn’t speak at first, suspected she was too far gone to hear him, but thought about the last two years. On missions she had become such a vital part of the team, her skills saving them both on and off the field of combat. His eyes fell to her arms, lying still over the blanket, and he saw the bruises and scars as if for the first time. Some so fresh, others surely older than her time with SHIELD. There were stories there that she might perhaps one day share, if they could get her through these days. A smile spread across the Captain’s face as he remembered her attitude on missions, then faded as he thought further. Yes, she’d be full of life, full of bravado and command, throwing herself into the fray until even Bucky commented she was more of a risk taker than the Captain. But he winced when he realised that her enthusiasm was dedication to a mission that only she knew, to protect the Captain, to serve Fury, at all costs. The scars and bruises were signs of how much she’d suffered for SHIELD, and despite his ignorance, he felt to blame. And now there were new marks on her arms as well, that he felt guilty for. Her wrists swollen with excess fluid, skin blistered as her body battled the infection

His hands reached out and held hers, her fingers swallowed by the man’s larger hands. He held her gently, aware of the fragility of her skin beneath his hands, and ran his thumbs gently across hers. He didn’t speak, not yet.

The Captain stayed there for 12 hours before finally the doctor called Sergeant Barnes, begging him to take the Captain to rest and get out from under their feet. Barnes stood watching for a moment when he arrived, not speaking, seeing the way the captain still held her hands so gently, silently.

“You need to rest Steve”

His voice broke the man’s reverie and he sat up straight, looked over at the door where the Sergeant stood.

“I need to stay here Buck. Doc says she’s only got a 50-50 chance, at best. Because of me.”

The Sergeant sighed inwardly at his friend’s permanent sense of duty and responsibility, but tried to jolly him along.

“You’re in the way. Your giant body is stopping them working, you need to move. Rest, eat, shower, they’ll call if there’s any changes y’know.” He’d walked forward, put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, knowing that Steve felt guilt deeper than most.

“I remember what it’s like,” he spoke more softly now. “Watched over you when you were sick often enough, didn’t I? And your Mom used to make me go home too, tell me there was no point in me makin’ myself sick just because you were.” He squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “C’mon punk. Let the docs do their work.”

The Captain smiled up at him, aware of his friend’s attempts to humour him but glad there was someone who cared. He stood, then bent over and kissed her on the forehead and left, avoiding his friend’s surprised glance.

-  
For the next four days, she was rarely alone. When the Captain wasn’t there, dragged away by his team mates, then Fury would sit with her. Both men had their reasons, and their guilt, that kept them there, and as she lay in silence, a coma partly caused by the sepsis and partly induced, to give her body a chance to rest they began to talk, filling the gap left by her silence.

Fury arrived not long after Sergeant Barnes had taken the Captain away. By then, he’d showered and slept and had regained his restrained demeanour. To an unknowing observer, he was always unaffected by what he saw, but to those who knew him, they knew of his fierce loyalty, his love and concern for the team, and she was one of them.

He sat in silence at first, watching, then suddenly, compulsively, sat forward. He picked up her medical chart, read the notes as if he could find a clue to save her in there, then paced the room for a moment before sitting back down. As the Captain had done before, he cradled her hand in his.

“Well. Sending you out there was stupid-ass decision. And it was mine. I’ve made some mistakes along the way but shit, this was a big one. I thought it might do you good to go back there on the other side, lay some ghosts to rest.” He sighed, sat back and rubbed his face with his hands. “Guess I was wrong, that guilt you carry goes deeper than I ever knew.” He paused a moment, then brushed her hair off her face, resting his hand on her forehead. “Just get through this, I got other plans to help you.” His face was impassive but his mind was in turmoil. He’d spent a long time working with her once she’d defected, felt a sense of pride at how much she’d been able to help them, how willingly she’d turned once she saw the danger Hydra was. But more than that, he felt responsible. He was the one who’d spent months interviewing her, testing her defection was true, gathering intel, probing her more deeply than perhaps she realised. They’d formed a bond over those months, as he’d found out what she’d been through, what she’d done – and how she felt about her actions. She’d looked so broken, and when he’d placed his trust in her, he realised that the affection he felt for her was more than returned. Seeing her gradually settle in, use her medical skills – and her other skills – to support SHIELD, asking nothing in return, he’d had hope that she’d find a new family here, a new reason to live, but she kept herself cut off. Technically, his time with her was finished once he’d released her into the ranks, but he couldn’t lose his concern, his care. He sat by the hospital bed in silence and thought about those years. He’d though putting her with the Captain and his team might free her from her self-imposed prison, once she saw ex-Hydra agents accepted and valued, but she hadn’t seemed to pick up on that, somehow seeing herself as worse than Barnes or Romanoff. It was like watching a child holding itself in fear of bullying, rejecting all friendship… that gave him pause. It _was_ like seeing a child. He hadn’t realised how much she’d become a surrogate child to him until now. Like Romanoff, whose welfare was everything to him, she’d got into his heart and now he was vulnerable as she lay there, in the No Man’s Land between life and death. He started to talk again, telling her all this.

When Hill eventually came and drew Fury away for more rest, the Captain came back. Barnes had got him fed and rested but sensed his impatience to be back by his team mate’s side and didn’t try to keep him away too long. Barnes and the Captain walked into the medical wing together, passing Fury in the corridor. The Captain nodded at Fury, eyes meeting, both clouded with guilt and worry. The Captain paused to talk to the doctor, and Barnes entered her room first.

“You got quite a hold on him kid,” he smiled at the still figure, trusting that she would recover but fearing for his friend if she didn’t. He put a hand on her shoulder. “There’s something about you he hasn’t told me yet, and things about the way he feels I don’t think even he’s figured out yet, so if you could just get better so we can get this straight…” He stopped, patted her shoulder, feeling useless. The Captain came back in.

“No change yet. Good or bad” he sat by the bed. “I’m gonna stay here a bit Buck.” Bucky nodded, made to leave, then turned back, and bent down, pulling his friend in close.

“Call me, if you need me, Stevie.”

And now it was Steve’s turn to talk to her, his voice low as he held her hand.

“God I was angry with Fury, not telling me about you, about what you were there for. I told him, I can't lead a mission when the people I'm leading have missions of their own’.” He smiled to himself, remembering the heat of their confrontation, now forgotten and forgiven. “But he had the right of it, I reckon. Bucky, Nat, you, you’re all the same, all that guilt and shame, all kept inside, like you gotta find a way to balance it out by doing good. What is it Nat says, ‘red in her ledger’, I’m guessing you feel the same. No need though. You three weren’t even given any choice about what you did. All we can do is our best, and sometimes the best that we can do is to start over, and you’ve done that. You don’t owe anyone your guilt. Just wish I’d known you felt like that before, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.” He sighed, stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, then sat back, quietly now, in thought.

She’d got in his head somehow. He hadn’t realised how much he’d come to rely on her, she was a strong presence in their missions, strong enough to hold her own in a team already formed, strong enough to fight alongside them, to treat them, but then… he thought about it. Once their missions were over, he hadn’t looked for her and he felt guilt about that now. The missions had been frequent so they’d spent a lot of time together but somehow once they’d landed back at the compound, she’d melt away, silently, and by the time he’d thought to look for her, she’d be gone. He wished now he’d sought her out away from the gunfire and the bandages, it had taken their days in the cabin to make him realise how much he’d wanted that. He didn’t often allow himself to want something, but he wanted this now. He tried the idea in his head, testing the shape of this new thought, rolling it around his mind. Yes, he wanted this. He started to talk again, telling her this.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no medical knowledge, so if you do and this is nonsense, I apologise!  
> -  
> Also random insertion of MCU quotes. Because why not :)

Three long, anxious days, she was barely left alone. The Captain and Fury were joined on occasion by other members of the team, partly to keep the men company, but also to be there for her. She’d been with the team for two years and although she’d been the quietest, most reserved member, she was still part of the team.

Clint came and sat with the Captain on the first day, entering silently, putting a friendly hand on the Captain’s shoulder for a moment, making him look up and smile, then moving to a chair on the other side of the bed. They talked for a moment about her, had she improved, what were they trying next, but then fell into silence again. Clint sat still, but his hands moved constantly, flicking a pen between his fingers, over and over. The Captain, exhausted, watched it move, almost hypnotised by the beeping monitor and flickering pen. He jumped slightly when Clint spoke.

“Remember when I got that knife to the back? Budapest.” The Captain nodded, looking up. Clint winced as he reminisced. “Sheesh, I was sure that was it for me. Was that the first time she came off the jet? Yeah… think it was. She’d stayed on board all the missions up to then, right, like the rest of the medics, but she always looked like she was itching to get out there.” He paused, his fingers stilled as he thought. “I’d said to her then, you step out that door, you’re an Avenger, just wanted to make her smile. God I was glad she did though.”

“If she’d stayed on the jet, you know, we’d still have got you treated…”

“I think you and I remember Budapest very differently, Cap. She didn’t just treat me. She _protected_ me. I was lying there, bleeding out, couldn’t breathe - knife to the lung’ll do that to you. She fought off three, maybe four, Hydra guys before she could treat me. Did I never tell you that?”

The Captain looked confused, shook his head.

“Guess not. Was kinda busy not dying in the hospital for a few days, figured she’d said something? Huh. Weird. Went and thanked her, once I could move again. So did Laura, turned up and hugged the life out of her, turns out she’s not a hugger, never seen someone look so unsure of what to do.” He laughed at the memory, then his face paled. “My kids’d be fatherless without her, and she never said. Huh…”

They sat in silence a while longer, then Barton’s phone beeped.

“It’s Laura, I gotta go. Keep me updated Cap? I’ll be back when I can.”

-

Fury was sitting with her the next day, Barnes having dragged the Captain away again, when Romanoff walked in. She nodded at the Director, stood at the end of the bed, arms folded, and looked between the man in the chair, and the woman in the bed.

“Why do I feel there’s a story here that you’re not telling, sir.” She watched his face, reading his expressions carefully, then sighed. “Don’t worry, I haven’t gone looking. You and Steve would have told us if you thought we should know. I may be a spy but knowing when not to look is pretty important.”

She went and stood next to Fury, knowing that he’d never ask for support or sympathy, but also knowing he needed it. 

“Don’t need to be a spy to see there’s something on your mind Nick. I’m not saying you have to talk, but you know I’m here if you need to. We’re all too good at suffering alone, it’s like everyone’s favourite hobby these days. But you’ve got friends, remember.”

Unknowingly mimicking Barton and the Captain, she rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and he reached up and held her hand. She stretched a leg, hooked a chair from behind her and sat next to Fury.

“Hey, remember when she took that bullet for the Cap? I’ve never seen someone as guilt-stricken as Steve that day. He was facing away from the shooter, suddenly she shoved him and got shot in the arm. She says she didn’t know the shooter was there, it was just chance, nothing to feel guilty about. That’s a lie, you know.”

Fury looked at her, puzzled. 

“The mission report, she said she was just in the way, stumbled into Cap…”

“Yeah, I was there. Saw her, she saw the shooter, never seen someone move so fast, she ran across that room, pushed Cap, practically jumped in front of him. Full on Clint in The Line of Fire..." Fury eyed her. "Does nobody watch movies here except me?! Anyway, any slower and he’d have taken that bullet, straight through the spine. Don’t know what the serum could do with that. Never did understand why she lied but that was her choice. I don’t talk if there’s no reason. Watched her though, since then.”

Romanoff looked at the still figure in the bed, and her voice quietened.

“She’s got no-one you know, not here on the compound. I haven’t looked into her past;you trust her and that’s enough for me, but here, she lives alone, eats alone, trains alone. I dunno, I used to think love was for children, but friendship? You’ve shown me the value of that.” She nodded her figure at the bed. “She could use some of that.”

-

On the third day, the doctors decided to take her off sedation completely. They had reduced the dose over the last two days, brain scans showing increased activity but keeping her just below full consciousness. Now they removed her breathing tube, confirmed that she could breathe alone, and took out the IV. The doctors warned the Captain it would be many hours before she woke even from her light sedation, but they’d long since accepted that he would be there waiting regardless.

The Captain examined her as she lay, free now of medical equipment. The rash had gone, her heart rate was steady and her breathing slow and deep. He knew that the knife wound was finally healing although there would be a deep scar for the rest of her life. His own wound had long since healed and faded to nothing, and he felt guilt that he should have been left so unmarked, while she was so damaged. She was thin, worryingly so, ashen-skinned, her eyes sunken, but the doctors were optimistic, for all that they talked of a long slow recovery.

It was over 12 hours later that he noted her stirring. He’d only left her side when the doctors came to check her, his sense of modesty making him leave the room when she was undergoing any treatment. Now he sat again at her side, then noticed her hands moving. He watched her face, and saw she looked distressed. Her eyes were open though she looked confused and fearful. Knowing what he did of her past, he suspected that she had many fears that would surface when her brain was weakened. He held her hand gently, wishing that he could soothe all those fears, and spoke to her quietly, reassuringly.

For the next day, she slept often, waking each time in fear and anxiety. Sometimes she cried, and the Captain wiped her tears away carefully until she slept again. Each time she woke though, she became a little clearer-headed, until finally she looked at him and there was recognition in her eyes. 

“Captain?” Her voice was gravelly from being intubated. She looked down at her hand, surprised to see his fingers wrapped around hers. “What’s happening?”

He took his time explaining, letting her understand gradually the danger she had been in, how long she’d been ill. Her hand went to her side when he mentioned her wound, the infection that had spread, poisoning her, killing her. He told her about the recovery time, that she could be weak for months to come, but that they could take it slow. She closed her eyes and slept again.

The next time she woke, Fury was with the Captain. They were standing in the corner of the room, talking quietly to each other. She imagined their conversation, the reproaches, the time she’d wasted, her failure.

“I’m sorry.”

They both turned, approached the bed, stood over her.

“I’m sorry," she said again. "For all this.” She waved her hand, taking in the room, her condition, the mission. “The Captain told me, I’m sorry.”

“Finished?” Fury’s face had always been hard to read. She stayed silent, nodded.

“You were injured in the line of duty. _We_ owe _you_ an apology for that. And, I think, _I_ owe you an apology for a lot more. That mission.” She started to shake her head, but he stopped her. “When you’re well. We’ll talk. All three of us.” Then he smiled, a rare thing, all the more special because it was rare. “I’m glad to see you better. Very glad.” Then he left her alone with the Captain.

“You were here before. I remember. I heard you. And Fury. I think.. Did I dream that?”

“I was here. We all were. We weren’t leaving you alone. You’re _not_ alone.” He rubbed his thumb gently across the back of her hand, feeling the bones, fragile, under her skin. He looked up at her and saw that she was crying again, even as she fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

She woke a few hours later. The room was dark now, all the lights shut off and just a glow coming from under the door. Her exhaustion still left her confused and it took a moment to remind herself where she was, and why. As awareness returned, she realised there was a weight on her hand. She looked down to see a shape, a body. Someone was sitting in the chair by her side but had fallen asleep on her bed, one arm cushioning their head, the other holding her hand. It was the Captain. She would know him anywhere, so aware of his presence at all times for her mission, and now, since the cabin, for more than her mission. She didn’t dare move, letting herself have this moment. Her mind was in turmoil as she lay still, knowing that the right thing to do as a medic was to send him home, exhausted as he must be, but there was such comfort in the way his weight pressed the blanket down on her legs, the feel of his breath against her hand as he slept, the warmth of his touch. Just for this short moment, she let herself enjoy it, but all too soon the anguish and guilt surfaced, the knowledge that she was Hydra, that she had committed crimes, unspeakable acts, and that this goodness, this purity, wasn’t for the likes of her. She pulled her hand gently away, her skin suddenly feeling cold and bereft of his touch. 

“Steve.” She whispered it, quietly, so that he wouldn’t hear, one last guilty pleasure in the feel of his name on her lips, then spoke louder.

“Captain.” Nothing. “Captain Rogers? Sir.” He stirred, lifted his head and blinked blearily in the gloom then sat up. He groaned as his muscles complained at their awkward position, and rubbed one hand over his face, giving himself a little shake to wake up.

“Hey there,” he spoke softly in the dark. “How are you doing? Stupid question, I know” She heard the smile in his voice, felt a shiver in her skin at the sound.

“I’m fine, it’s OK, you should go to bed. And eat something. You’ve been here too much, there’s no need, I promise. Go rest.” Her voice was telling him to go even as she desperately feared the loneliness when he left. Loneliness hadn’t bothered her before, it had seemed right, a self-imposed penance. Remorse, shame, a fear of discovery and rejection, those had been her constant companions, but now every part of her craved human company. His company. Her dreams were filled with memories of their time in the cabin: the silent, swirling snow; the crack and roar of the fire; the night-dark confessions and the feel of his skin.

He stood, stretched his arms almost to the ceiling as he yawned, turning his neck from side to side to loosen the muscles. He looked at his watch.

“It’s 2am, and I’m pretty sure I smell like hell,” again, the sound of his smile in the dark warmed her. “I’m gonna go shower and hit the hay for a few hours, now I know you’re OK, but I’ll be back. OK?”

“It’s fine, you don’t need…”

“OK, Sergeant…?” It was rare for him to use her rank, remind her of his authority. She nodded, spoke quietly.

“Sir, yes Sir.” She was glad of this formality, knowing that a distance, assigned roles, an enforced structure to their relationship, would help remind her of who he was, who she was. At the same time, she felt a shard of ice form in her stomach. This was what she had dreaded, that the familiarity of the cabin was false, fever-led; that his constant presence in her hospital room was merely that of an officer to someone wounded on duty. 

“Aw c’mon, you took that seriously? That blood poisoning got to your brain, huh? Sad, so sad…” He bent and swiftly placed a kiss on her forehead, leaving a ghost impression of warmth on her skin, and the scent of him in the air. “I’ll be back, get some rest.”

Before her skin had time to cool from his kiss, the door was shutting behind him.

\--  
The next week followed the same pattern, although now she was conscious she was aware of the amount of time the Captain, or Fury, or their friends, spent in her room. It was rare for her to be alone except at night, and when the doctors threw everyone out for rests, or purely to reduce the disruption. Her room had become an extension of the team’s apartments it seemed, as they congregated there to talk, work, eat. It was a relief to her that she didn’t always need to speak, too exhausted, and too wary of this much contact outside work, but on the rare moments when she was alone, she wrapped the feelings of this company around her, holding it to her heart.

The Captain often sat in her room reading quietly to herself while she rested, occasionally looking up to ask her a question, or read her a line he enjoyed. Stark and Banner appeared in her room one day and spent an hour going over the Captain’s medical notes while asking her questions about his bullet wound, and trying to explain what they had found out about the metal so far. In this, she needed merely to be an audience as they bounced ideas off each other, before they left to carry out further tests. Sergeant Barnes appeared one day, bringing one of Stark’s computers. Despite growing up in such a different era, Barnes had embraced technology quickly.

“Recovery’s shit, right doll? Too tired to do anything, makes you feel pissed at the world, makes you cry, makes you bored?” She nodded as he described her frustrated weakness. The usual complaint of the recuperating patient was made worse by her need to feel useful, to prove herself, something she couldn't do while still so week.

“Here ya go, got Stark to put a load of movies on this for you, figured you’d know how to use it?” He passed it to her, and as he moved, she noticed the light shining on his metal arm. She knew the stories, as everyone did, but had always refrained from mentioning it when they spoke, pretending it wasn’t there, afraid of its Hydra connotations. He noted her glance however.

“My last link with Hydra.” He moved his arm around, and they both watched as the metal plates slid, snake-like and smooth, against each other. “Gotta give it to ‘em, they knew their stuff when it comes to metal arms. Shame you can’t say the same about their plans for world domination, right?”

She looked up, taken aback at the way he could laugh now at his torture, be so open at his time – his decades – with Hydra. He noted her reaction, and misread her surprise as revulsion, something that he had experienced often enough until he’d found acceptance with his team.

“Sorry. Not funny, I know. I’ll go…” He started walking to the door, scooping up his jacket from the chair as he passed.

“No! No, Sergeant Barnes, don’t, please?” He turned at her words, and her heart broke to see the pain on his face, and the way it lightened slightly with hope. For all that he made light of his time with Hydra, she recognised fellow feeling in him, that inner rejection that expected outer rebuffs.

“I’m not… I just…” How to explain that she’d been shocked at the hope that had, for a moment, risen in her; seeing someone so abused by Hydra, so unashamed, somehow so innocent of the crimes they’d made him commit. She couldn’t begin to put that into words, not without admitting her own time with Hydra, and that was something she still couldn’t do. The Captain himself had not brought it up and she was afraid of the horror she was sure he felt. In amongst her dreams of their time together had been mixed nightmares from which she couldn't escape. Nightmares about her confession of being Hydra, where he had turned his back, walked away in disgust. Better he would have killed her, but in the dream he left her alive. Alive, but alone.

“I just, um… what movies are on this? Will you stay?”

Her heart was racing now. She had never asked for something like this. For a friend, for company. But a part of her yearned to spend more time with this man who’d done what seemed so impossible, been accepted despite his past. She wanted to wipe out the sadness she’d seen on his face at the thought of rejection, and to spend time with someone who gave her that flicker of hope.

Barnes dropped his jacket back onto the chair, scraping it across the floor to the head of her bed. She saw his face was lightened again and felt a rush of tears, hating how easily emotions affected her in her weakened state. He noted the tears, didn’t mention them, but added them to the puzzle he found her to be.

A few hours later, the Captain returned to find the two team members lying together on the hospital bed, asleep. The computer lay on the blanket, still playing the movie, the light from the screen making the room flicker. Their heads were close together on the pillow and both, in their rest, looked at peace. Despite Bucky’s bravado, the Captain knew that inside he still burned with sorrow and guilt at his time with Hydra, desperate to find forgiveness although it had long been given by everyone except himself. The Captain stood in the doorway watching for a moment, a smile on his face. Perhaps they could help each other find the peace they needed. He stepped into the room quietly, turned off the screen, then left.

-

Six days later, she was fit enough to be discharged, to continue her recovery at home. The team had been sent away an hour before while she had final assessments. She was still weak and thin, but there was little else that the hospital could do. Time, rest, food, gentle exercise, and patience were prescribed. The doctor left her to dress, handing over another pair of scrubs to wear. She gathered up the items that had somehow accumulated in her room over the last week, computer, fruit, books, then noticed a sweater of the Captain’s that had been left on a chair. Piling her belongings on the bed, she pulled it on over her scrubs, glad of the warmth. The sleeves dangled long past her hands, and she pushed them up, knowing they would slide down again straight away. With the sleeves covering her hands again, she lifted hands to her face, letting the soft material slide over her skin, eyes closed. There was a faint scent that she recognised as his. She buried her face in the fabric, glad there was no-one here to see her need.

A deep breath, and she stood again, picking everything up, and made for the door. She stopped at the nurse’s station, thanked the staff for their care, listened again to their warnings to take it easy, to not push herself, to accept her limitations for a while, then set off down the corridor. She could feel their eyes on her back and willed herself on, surprised by how exhausted she was already. The thought of the long walk back to her apartment seemed impossible, but she had firmly rejected a wheelchair and a porter to take her back, and stubbornly refused to give in and ask for help.

Reaching the elevator, she pressed the button, and leant against the wall, glad of the moment’s respite. She watched the indicator climb to her floor, then pushed herself away from the wall to stand in front of the doors as it approached her floor.

As the doors opened, she was knocked sideways as the Captain came out hurriedly, arms full. She stumbled, dropped her belongings, cried out in shock. He too, yelled, letting go of his armful and grabbing for her as they collided. It only took a second, and they were still, surrounded by fallen items, his arms around her.

“Shit, are you ok? I was late, I was coming for you, you didn’t wait, ah, you didn’t know? God, are you ok though?”

She nodded, slightly winded but otherwise fine, and very conscious of his arm around her waist, their bodies touching.

“I went to get you some clothes, figured you wouldn’t have any,” he gestured to the pile that was on the floor now. “Couldn’t find a bag and then I was late, so I just grabbed them…” She saw him flush as he realised he was gesturing at her underwear, which had floated to the top of the pile. “Nat sorted them, I, just... carried them!” He set her back on her feet awkwardly, tried to decide if he should pass her her clothes, and how to do it delicately, without looking as if he was touching anything untoward. She couldn’t help herself, let out a giggle, and then scooped up the clothes. The Captain smiled at her sheepishly, bent to pick up the things she’d been carrying.

Knocking on a door near the lift and hearing no answer, he opened the door and peered in.

“Just an office, you could change in here? I’ll wait outside, make sure no one comes in.” His face was still slightly pink. She’d heard enough of the conversation between friends that week to know that he was as honourable in his personal life as he was in command, and that his friends teased him about it. For a moment, she considered kissing him on the cheek as a thank you, but swiftly rejected the idea. She put a hand on his forearm, feeling the warmth, so different to the fever-heat of their time in the cabin, which seemed so long ago.

“Thank you sir.” She stepped into the room, shut the door.

By the time she had changed clothes, she was sweating with exhaustion, and tears pricked her eyes at the thought of the long walk before she could rest. She regretted again declining the wheelchair, but was so afraid of the Captain seeing her as weak, as useless, that she couldn’t turn back. She opened the door, nearly stepping into his broad back as he stood guard in the corridor, and as he turned, held out his sweater.

“This was in my room, I just… I was cold, I… sorry.” Her face felt warm as she tried to return it, aware he’d seen her wearing it just moments before. He gestured to the belongings he was carrying.

“Keep it for now, my hands are full.” She nodded, then looked down quickly, shuffling her feet, as he added “Suits you better anyway” as he reached for the elevator button. 

They stood silently, side by side, as the elevator descended, then stepped out. Her legs were already shaking with tiredness by the time they left the building. After two weeks inside, the harsh sunlight and the vast expanse of the compound suddenly felt alarming, and her breath hitched with slight panic as her knees trembled. Her apartment block was visible, standing tall on the horizon, and feeling impossibly far. 

She hadn’t realised she’d frozen until she felt an arm around her, supporting her. She looked up, saw that the Captain had shifted everything he was carrying under one arm awkwardly.

“I got you. We’ll take it slow, 'k?” She took a deep breath, steeled herself to carry on, afraid to show weakness.

“Crazy to think it’s only a few weeks ago that it was _you_ dragging _me_ across the snow.” He smiled down at her and she was startled to think how different things had been such a short time before. “Happy to return the favour, ma’am.”

His smile, directed straight at her, was irresistible, and she couldn’t help but smile back, letting him lead her along the path away from the medlabs.

“How are you now? How is the bullet wound?” She forced herself to return to professional matters, keeping her eyes on the path to focus her energy on walking, and to avoid that brilliant smile again.

“All good. Healed and gone, thanks to the serum. Wish I could have given you some, it’s been hard seeing you so ill.” They walked in silence for a moment, before he continued. “I think Stark might kiss you, now you’re better, never seen him and Bruce so excited about something as they are about that bullet. They keep telling me about it, some new metal, but if I’m honest, I stop listening after the first ten minutes.” She laughed at that, and felt an answering laugh rumble through his body where she was held against him.

At the end of the path, she turned to walk left, towards the apartments, but was pulled up short as he turned the other way.

“Where you going?”

“My apartment, it’s in that block.” She pointed towards the tower blocks at the edge of the compound where most staff were housed.

“Yeah, no. Didn’t Stark tell you? I told him to…” She saw him roll his eyes. “Let me guess, he turned up with Banner and they talked science at you?” She nodded.

“Tell me what?”

“You’ve got a new apartment. With us. What Tony likes to call the Avengers Apartments.” He smiled down at her, as she looked up, puzzled. “Don’t know why we didn’t do it before, you’ve been part of the team for two years now. I’m sorry we didn’t.”

She felt flustered, panicky, at being singled out from the ranks, the least deserving of everyone at SHIELD. 

“No, no, I’m fine where I am, I’m not… I can’t…”

“Sweetheart, you’re not going back to living alone, not right now. You need looking after.” He saw her about to refuse again, squeezed her against his side to silence her. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m your CO, consider it an order. Now, you can walk with me, or I can carry you.” He grinned down at her again and she felt a wave of unfamiliar emotion wash over her, something she’d never allowed herself to feel before. Cared for.


	11. Chapter 11

It wasn’t easy for her to accept help, or support. She’d lived too long with Hydra, where none was offered, and even longer living in her own head where she told herself she was undeserving of kindness. She longed for it, but at the same time felt that she had to reject it, unable to forgive herself.

They walked, slowly, towards the Avengers apartments. Her whole body was too tired to think now, and she could only concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, focus on breathing in and out. She was aware that the Captain was talking but she couldn’t spare the mental resources to listen. Keep walking, keep breathing. She felt his arm go around her waist and was too tired to resist, to refuse and insist that she could walk alone. The path didn’t seem to be getting any shorter and she was longing for the wheelchair that she’d turned down now. The sun was hot on the back of her neck, sweat was trickling down her forehead, and cold in the small of her back. Keep walking, keep breathing. It was getting harder to lift her feet high, they were scraping along the path, and so when her foot caught on a crack in the ground, she stumbled and would have fallen but for the arm around her waist. The Captain’s grip tightened, jerking her back upright, and then in a swift move, he’d picked her up.

She was aware of his eyes on her face but the sun behind his head made her squint, making his face just a shadow against the blue sky. It was easier to close her eyes against the sun, easier to give in, just for a moment. She let her head rest against his shoulder, felt the muscles shifting as he walked, carrying her without effort.

“Turnabout is fair play, huh?” He asked, and she tried to open her eyes and respond, but her energy was gone now. She smiled against his chest though, knowing what he was thinking. It had only been a short time since she was the one supporting him, dragging him through the snow through sheer will, determined to get him to safety. And now, here, they were far enough south that the sun was fiercely hot and now he was the one supporting her. A flicker in her brain told her to refuse this help, but then tiredness overwhelmed her, and she curled further into his arms and slept.

She didn’t stir when he lay her on a bed, and covered her with a blanket, closing the curtains against the sun. It was many hours later when she woke. She blinked a few times, took in her surroundings. The room was cool, an open window blowing the curtains gently. There were soft noises from nearby, at first she thought they were coming from outside but she remembered how tall this tower was, and realised they must be from inside the building. Voices, too soft to hear; chairs moving; cutlery clattering; a sudden laugh. She sat up, wincing as her muscles strained after too long un-used. She was still fully dressed though her shoes were on the floor nearby. She ran a hand over her face, rubbed her eyes to try and wake up. She knew where she was, and how she’d got here - the disconnection she’d felt in hospital had long passed and she was fully conscious now. What she didn’t know was what to do next.

If she’d had her way, she’d have put on her shoes and left, but she knew that she was too weak to get far, and it seemed that there were people eating in a room not far away, who would stop her. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she recognised the deep rumble of Sergeant Barnes’ voice, the lighter sound of Agent Romanov, knew that the laugh was the Captain’s. There were other voices, and she guessed that the whole team were out there. She felt paralysed by uncertainty, unsure what they expected from her.

Taking a deep breath, she slid out of bed and put her shoes on, steadying herself with a hand on the wall as her head swam at the movement. She walked to the window first, drew back the curtain. The sun was setting, the sky glowing orange ahead of her, the air filled with a hot dust smell as it cooled. She was high up, dizzyingly so. She could see people moving across the ground below her, heading for evening meals and training, groups meeting and separating as they crossed paths. She rested her head on the window and watched as the sun went down, afraid to face the team yet.

It was only when the sun had dropped below the horizon and the room was dark that she moved. She’d watched as streetlamps fizzed into life below her, and then looking up, had caught her reflection in the darkened window. Her mind flashed back to the cabin, three weeks before, and her face in a darkened window then. A lot had changed in those three weeks, but her eyes looked as sunken now as they had then. She’d been sure they were going to die then, the two of them, frozen or hunted in their cabin, and now they were sitting surrounded by luxury, safe in the evening heat. Her mission felt less clear now in the safety of the compound, her role undefined.

Shaking herself into action, she walked towards the door and stood listening. Voices were murmuring still, and she could hear some music now. She pulled the door open. 

Outside the door was a large open apartment. Her eyes scanned for danger, for weapons, for exits, out of habit, while she took in her surroundings. There was a kitchen off to one side (knives, fire, glass for weapons) with plates and dishes stacked on the side, the smell of cooking still lingering in the air. Ahead, a dining table (chair legs to fight with, good cover from attack), chairs pushed haphazardly underneath. To the right, a generous seating area. Over-sized couches, shelves with ornaments, pictures on the wall (a door, the only way out. Windows, giving too much visibility from outside). And on the couches, a group of people, all now turned towards her, waiting. It had only taken seconds to assess the room, and she knew that this group would have done much the same in any room they entered, that they knew what she was doing. She walked forward, putting a hand on a chair back as she stood, steadying herself. Waited for orders.

Nobody spoke for a moment, then the Captain stood, a grin on his face, clapped his hands together.

“Hey! Feeling better? Welcome home!” He gestured around him, taking in the apartment, the team, the view from the windows. “Clint and Nat have brought your stuff over, while you were in the hospital, but you can sort it all out when you’re up to it.” He was still smiling, and she could see they were all looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

“This is… I mean… what?” It was too much to take in. She pulled the chair out and sank into it. Too much had happened, too fast. She heard a rustle as people stood, whispered conversations, but kept her head low. Heard a door open and shut, then the room was quiet. They’d all gone. No, not all. She knew the Captain was still there, waiting. He’d sent the rest away, aware that she was overloaded and exhausted, and knowing what the others did not, about her past, and about how that left her feeling. She looked up.

He was standing, leaning against the back of the couch, arms crossed, looking relaxed. She knew that it wouldn’t bother him to wait, until she was ready to speak, but she needed to get this over with. 

“This is too much. Too big. I’m not… one of you, I don’t need… don’t deserve…” Her voice let her down, trailing off, and she couldn’t find the words to explain that this vast apartment, bigger than anywhere she’d ever lived, was daunting. The burden of earning this, deserving it, was too great, it was an obligation she could never fill, not when she owed so much already.

She could feel tears pricking her eyes, hated how her physical weakness was making her so emotionally weak. She fought back the tears, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted the metallic tang of her own blood. He hadn’t spoken yet, was still leaning against the couch.

“Stop it.” She looked up at that. His voice was soft but had the touch of command to it. Her back stiffened in response, automatically ready to take orders. “Just stop.” He pushed himself off the couch, walked towards her and stood in front of her, arms still folded. She had to lean back and tilt her head to see him. His brow was furrowed, his eyes hard.

“Stop acting like you don’t deserve nice things. Just stop. You’re part of this team. You’ve put yourself in the line of fire as much as any of us, patched us up afterwards. There’s no one on the team who would disagree with that.” His voice softened, and he went on. “And apart from all the work you do for everyone else, right now, I would be dead without you.”

Her head dropped again. He felt in _her_ debt? 

“The doctors said it could be months before I recover. What good am I now?” Her head throbbed with tiredness, confusion, and unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

He crouched down in front of her, held her hand in one of his. She remembered holding his hand in the cabin, feeling the fever building. Now his hands were warm and firm on hers, no hint of how close he’d come to death. He lifted her chin with his other hand, but she kept her eyes down, not wanting to meet his gaze. 

“Hey,” she looked at him reluctantly. His eyes were dark, serious, but his voice was gentle. “Hey. Listen. You’re worth more than just what you do for us. And whatever you think, there’s no debt to be paid.”

She opened her mouth, ready to apologise again. His mouth quirked up into a half-smile and he shook his head.

“Stop apologising. Stop that too.” 

He walked to the kitchen, brought her food from the oven, and sat with her while she ate, rolling a glass of water between his hands, filling the silence with talk. He talked about the results of their mission, about the work that Stark and Banner were doing on the bullet. She ate, nodding and adding comments when she could, but let him chatter.

“And your leg? Really OK? All healed?” No matter how often she saw the effects of the serum, she was still in awe of its healing powers. He stood, carried her empty plate back to the kitchen.

“Once you got that bullet out, closed up perfectly. Why, you wanna see?” He made as if to undo his belt and then threw his head back to laugh as she flapped her hands, flustered and mortified. “You only have to ask…” He winked at her, and she couldn’t help but smile, rolling her eyes at her own awkwardness.

With warm food inside her, she was starting to feel tired again. He noticed her stifle a yawn, waved off her apologies. “Get yourself back to bed. Nat’s unpacked all your clothes in there. You need to rest. That’s an order, soldier.” He smiled at her, and she stood, swaying slightly with weariness again.

“You gonna be OK? Want me to call Nat to help?” She shook her head, knowing she could make it into bed, and he walked over from the kitchen, surprising her by wrapping his arms around her. Her head rested on his chest and she could hear his heart beating, strong and steady, so different to the weak pulse as he’d been poisoned by the bullet. They stood for a moment, together, then leaning back, he put his hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her, then nodded as if satisfied. His hands moved up to cup her face and he kissed her forehead.

“Sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

The next few weeks followed a similar pattern. She slept a lot, her body slow to recover. The septic shock had left her in pain and she found herself crying easily still, but each day she felt a little stronger. She didn’t try to leave, or to talk to the Captain again about how she shouldn’t be there, but she knew she would have to, just as soon as she’d recovered her strength.

The Captain visited her every day, often with other members of the team. Despite the last mission ending so desperately, the intel they’d brought back, and the base they’d taken down, had been important, and Hydra were broken. They’d regroup, but for now the team had no missions and were enjoying the down time. The Captain brought books, food, DVDs. He showed her the list he’d been making over the years, of things he’d missed out on, and explained that he was working through it. They watched movies together, the whole team often settling in on her couches as she was too tired to leave the apartment still. She’d missed most of them herself, during her time with Hydra, and she found it all too easy to sink into the enjoyable sense of a new family with the team. Watching The Empire Strikes Back one night, the whole team howled with laughter as she and the Captain gaped open-mouthed at the screen as Darth Vader spoke to Luke.

“You been buried under the ice too kid?” Bucky nudged her as he laughed. “How the hell did you not know that was coming?!” She felt a chill in her stomach, her face dropping. How to explain that she’d been brought up with Hydra? She didn’t know how to answer, and saw Bucky look at her, puzzled as she stammered some obvious lie. The growing closeness she’d felt to the team was suddenly gone. She was aware she’d let herself get too comfortable. She didn’t belong, and if they found out, they wouldn’t want her. Claiming sudden tiredness, she shut herself back into her room, and when she finally fell asleep, her pillow was wet with tears.

Unknown to her, as she left the room, the Captain was watching her closely. He’d noticed the way she’d pulled back, the fear in her eyes as she was afraid to be caught out with her past. He knew there was a bigger issue here that couldn't be put off, although he'd been waiting until she was healed to face it. As he watched her, so Bucky watched the Captain. As they left her apartment a little later, Bucky pulled the Captain aside.

“Stevie, can we go get a beer?” Although the serum left them unsusceptible to alcohol, the taste of beer was still good, and the ritual of unwinding and unloading over a drink, was one that was still important to them. The Captain nodded, and the pair headed down a few levels to a private bar in the Avenger tower.

“Something’s odd with that one.” Bucky nodded his head upwards, indicating the apartment they’d just left. He grabbed them both a beer from the fridge, passing one to the Captain across the bar, then leaning back and watching his friend as he spoke. “More than just the injury. It’s like she’s afraid of something.” The Captain didn’t speak. “And she’s sure as hell got under your skin in a way I haven’t seen since Peggy. What is it Stevie? Love? Lust? It’s more than just being her CO.”

The Captain took a large pull on his beer bottle, looking down at the bottle as if he’d find the answers there. His mind was racing, trying to decide what to tell Bucky, wondering what his reaction would be. Finally, he looked up, gave his friend a sideways smile, one Bucky had been seeing since the 30s and knew was going to be the start of a tale of stupid decisions.

“Thing is Buck, she’s Hydra…”


	12. Chapter 12

“She’s Hydra…”

Those words cut straight to Bucky’s heart. His pulse started to race, his fists clenched. He could no more control his reaction to the word Hydra than he could control his nightmares, these days. Seventy years under Hydra control created an infinity of hate.

He’d stood straight, pushing himself away from the bar with a jerk. He was scowling, trying to contain himself, and only able to do so because, somehow, he knew this wasn’t right.

“She’s what? What the hell are you talking about Steve?” He ran his hand through his hair, confusion plastered itself across his face. “Fury brought her here, she’s worked with us for two years, she’s not Hydra!”

The Captain was sitting upright, trying to speak but unable to interrupt Bucky’s angry flow. A half-smile crossed his face, but he swiftly wiped it away before Bucky saw, knowing that his friend’s loathing for Hydra was no laughing matter, although his current frenzy was fun to watch. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair again, leaving it standing on end, trying to understand why his friend would have claimed that their medic – their team mate. Their friend – was Hydra.

“Jeez, wait, is this some double-bluff, you’re getting intel out of her? Just… what the hell Steve?”

“OK, so she’s not Hydra…” Steve began, finally able to get a word in. 

“God!” Bucky huffed out a sigh, sat down with a jolt and picked up his beer. “Why are you always so fucking dramatic, Rogers?” The Captain looked at his friend, one eyebrow lifted sardonically at Bucky’s reaction.

“… but she was.” He finished.

Bucky didn’t rant now. He sat for a moment, thinking. He hadn’t believed she was Hydra, not now, but somehow this made sense. That she was Hydra. Was. Past tense. And yet, as Bucky knew, it wasn’t so easy to shake off that past. He looked down, pushed the beer away, wanting no distraction from his thoughts. Steve watched him, slightly nervously. Somehow Bucky’s reaction felt like make or break here. For so long – decades now – Bucky had been the touchstone for the Captain’s thoughts and opinions. What Bucky thought, went. Not because the Captain was weak, or unintelligent, but because he respected Bucky’s opinions. They’d often used each other as a sounding board, and somehow the fact that he’d kept this a secret from his friend for the last few weeks brought on a sense of guilt. They had no secrets, not any more, they’d been through too much, and had only each other for so long.

Bucky still hadn’t spoken. His head was down, hair concealing his face. The bar was silent and still. With a start, Bucky looked up, rubbing his hand over his face, the stubble rasping in the quiet room.

“This is bullshit Steve. No, not that she was Hydra, I believe that. But that you brought her here, you and Fury, knowing that. What the hell were you thinking?”

The Captain found it hard to meet Bucky’s eyes now. He knew Bucky’s tempers well. The ranting and raving was for show, a sense of theatre overlaid on mild emotions or confusion. But this, this icy chill. The quiet voice, the measured tones. This was anger. Deep, harsh, killing anger. This was anger based on thought, not emotion, and it made the Captain afraid.

“I know the risks Steve. I was their tool too. What if she’s a double agent, think of the access she’s had, to the team our equipment, our intel. Or what if she’s a sleeper, embedded with codewords. She could kill you in your sleep, then what? You and Fury are fools if you think this is a game.”

The two men had stood, facing off like animals now. There was little between them in height or strength, and the clenched jaws showed that their anger was well matched now too.

“What if you are?” Steve shouted, the sudden sound making the glasses on the bar ring. “We all know you could be triggered. We all know that and yet here you are.” Silence for a moment, both men breathing deeply in their anger. Then suddenly, like a bubble bursting, the Captain took a deep breath, sat back down. “Why can’t we give her the same chance we’ve given you, or Nat?”

Bucky was pulled up sharp by the anger in his friend’s voice, and then by his quiet tone. There was reason here, for all that he hated it. He sat too, head in his hands.

“I just… I know Hydra, Stevie. From the inside. I know the risk you took with me, and it scares the hell out of me. This is more risk and I’m afraid of what it could do.”

He looked up, met the Captain’s eye. The anger was drained from both men now. Bucky smiled sadly, put a hand on the Captain’s shoulder.

“I’m always afraid of what I might do Stevie. I don’t know if I can cope with any more fear.” 

The Captain ducked his head, acknowledging the truth behind his friend’s words. He knew that despite the front he put on, Bucky held himself tense, always afraid that the Winter Soldier might reappear.

“I know Buck. I know.” A pause. “Let me start from the beginning OK?”

The Captain had spoken to Fury about what had happened in the cabin, but only the highlights. Her confession, his injury. So now, for the first time, he told one person everything. He could feel himself lightening as he spoke, but worried that he was burdening his friend now with this information.

“You were somewhere else in the base, that mission. Me and her, we were working through together, like so many times before.” He stopped, gave a wry smile. “Kinda dumb how I never thought of it before. Since when did a medic become such an active part of the team? Huh.” Bucky didn’t respond, wanting the Captain to get on with the story. 

“That’s where she was trained, that base. It’s changed in the last few years, but I guess something reminded her when we got in deep. No family, she’d grown up there, trained… I don’t need to tell you what that means.”

Bucky’s eyes, meeting the Captain’s, were dark with the memories of his time with Hydra. Just for a moment, the Captain thought he saw a flash of pity on Bucky’s face, but it was gone before he could catch it.

“So she’s had decades of Hydra training? Great… Do go on, this is just getting better.” The Captain frowned, he must have imagined the sympathy.

“She froze, being there. That’s when we both got hurt. But she got me out Buck. She got me out, she saved me, you know that. I’d be dead except for her. That’s gotta count for something, right?” No reaction. He sighed. “Those days in the cabin. She did everything for me, and we got talking. She fought, she hunted, she treated my wounds. And she told me…”

“She told you what?”

“She told me I was her mission, do or die.” Bucky’s head jerked up, puzzled. 

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That’s what I asked. She’s trying to repay a debt that she feels. A debt brought on by Hydra. Fury’s had her for years before he gave her to us, he trusts her, and he gave her the mission to protect me, at all costs. And she will, with her life, if needs be. So… I asked her why. Why the mission, how’d she learn to fight, to survive. And she told me.” He met Bucky’s eyes again, defiant. “She was Hydra. And now, she’s not.”

For a long time, the two men talked, the conversation flowed between them now as it had done for so many years, teasing out thoughts from each other, finding solutions, if there were any to be found. Bucky was resistant to the idea that anyone could leave Hydra voluntarily, that she’d made it out, and the Captain was surprised to find how much his lack of trust in her hurt him. He put the thought aside for later. 

After a while, the conversation slowed. They hadn’t come to an agreement, but there was more understanding now, perhaps more than the Captain realised. Bucky watched him talk about her, and saw something there that his friend didn’t seem to realise. For so long, Bucky had been the protector, and even now, he knew that his fear wasn’t for SHIELD, or the team, but for his friend. The fear of Hydra hurting him, and now the fear of him being hurt by his feelings, and that was something you couldn’t protect against.

Silence fell, and they both drank their beer, heads spinning in thought. Bucky was the first to break the silence, turning to the Captain with a smile.

“So you still haven’t answered my question, punk. Why’s she got under your skin?” The question was light-hearted but he was afraid of what he might hear.

“I dunno Bucky, I see myself in her, I guess.” That hadn’t been the answer Bucky expected, and he didn’t believe it was the full truth.

“Oh great, so you’re a Hydra agent now too?”

The Captain grinned, glad of the lighter mood after their hard discussion. “No, jerk.” He shoved Bucky gently, and both were reminded of the days when they were much younger, jostling in the park, Steve so much smaller then. “She doesn’t feel like she belongs,” he continued. “But she wants to do good. I dunno, reminds me of myself, a bit.”

“And that’s it?” Bucky’s few words were enough to draw out a flush on the Captain’s cheeks, something he’d never been able to hide. 

“I’m her CO. It’s my job to care for my team, that’s all.”

There was another conversation there, for another day, when they’d made a decision as to what happened next.

“We have to tell Nat, you know Stevie.” Bucky knew that it was vital to get the opinion of the only other person there who’d seen Hydra from the inside. He reached for his beer, then froze as a voice came from behind him.

“Bit late for that Bucky.” Nat. Of course. “Pour me a drink, would you?” She stepped out from the shade behind a pillar, her shape resolving out of the dark as if she was formed of the shadow. Both men turned, watching her appear.

“Nat, you can’t spy on your friends! Or you CO, can I remind you?” Steve’s voice was husky with concern at what she’d heard.

“I work for Fury, remember, not you.” She spoke lightly as she stepped behind the bar and poured herself a drink, both men still too startled at her appearance to act. “There was obviously something off about her, I’ve been thinking it for a while. And it was equally obvious that you two were going to discuss it.”

The Captain slumped on his stool, rolling his neck then looking up to find two sets of eyes on him now.

“I guess you heard everything then?” She nodded, unashamed of her eavesdropping. The Captain rolled his eyes, accepting that this was what she was good at, and she smiled at him. 

“Saves you repeating yourself, since you were going to tell me anyway. So now I know, all about your little Hydra friend…”

The Captain sat up straighter, face serious. “What are you going to do Nat?” He jerked back slightly as she laughed, the noise unexpected in the darkening bar.

“Jeez Steve, you really are dramatic! I’m not planning on taking her out!” She paused, took a mouthful of her drink, then pointed at the Captain. “As it happens, I’m with you.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to react, as he let out a startled “what?”

Natasha turned to Bucky, her face serious. “Buck, there but for the grace of god… We got out. We had friends who believed in us. Clint gave me a chance when he was supposed to put me down. Steve stood up for you against the world. Who’s she got?” She paused, letting her words sink in, saw Bucky’s eyes fall as he acknowledged the truth of what she said.

“Time to get your Haley Joel Osment on and pay it forward boys!” She grinned now, then groaned. “God, nobody gets my references here. Stick that one in your little book Steve.”

“I’m keeping an eye on her.” The Captain knew that Bucky wasn’t happy with the decision, his urge to protect always on top, but knew also that Nat’s words had sunk in. There was a part of him that the Winter Soldier had never been able to erase. The part that had made Bucky protect a smaller, bullied boy; that made his men follow him into battle; that helped return him to himself after so long as merely an asset. For all his worries, Bucky Barnes was a man who did what was right, cared for the innocent, fought the good fight. He would be there for her.


	13. Chapter 13

She didn’t notice a change at first. They were subtle – they were good at that. The team still spent a lot of time in her apartment, the rooms having become a meeting place to relax, to eat, to rest. But Romanoff and Barnes were watching her. They saw the signs, that they’d missed before. The way she backed off from talk of the past, fear in her eyes; the way she positioned herself, always with her back to the wall when she could; the way she watched the Captain, with a sense of duty, and, maybe something more. 

The protective instinct that had led Bucky to rescue Steve from fights was still there, 70 years on. It was stronger now, despite Steve – the Captain now – being almost undefeatable. Bucky knew that for all his physical strength, the Captain’s humanity would always leave him vulnerable.

She was gradually regaining her strength. Each day she was able to stay awake a little longer, to walk further without pain. She was still weak, but she was pushing herself, desperate to be useful again. She would cook, serve food and drink, always watchful to notice a need and fill it. She still felt a debt that needed to be paid, and while she was unable to act as medic, felt like a burden on the team.

Without the knowledge of her past, most of the team barely noticed, but three sets of eyes constantly watching her, observed her behaviour, and each reacted differently. The Captain was frustrated, desperate to clear the idea of a debt from her head. He would force her to sit down, fetch and carry for her, but this just added to her sense of guilt, and she would withdraw further into herself with anxiety. Romanoff watched her, and felt the weight of the obligation as a familiar sense. She too, had lived with the feeling that she needed to pay her dues, to balance the books. It was a feeling she’d long had, and it rarely bothered her now. She knew her worth, knew that she’d done as much good as she’d ever done bad, but she remembered that weight and felt pity. Barnes was confused, filled with mixed emotions. He remembered the guilt of all that he’d done, despite being unable to resist or refuse. His heart broke that anyone should share that feeling, but his gut told him that this could be an act. He watched her, closely, hawk-like with intensity. Could someone walk away from Hydra so easily? He wanted desperately to believe, for her sake, but didn’t dare. If he trusted, too easily, and she was a sleeper, was triggered, the damage would be on him. 

She was aware of the change in Barnes, but unsure what had caused it. Since their time together in the hospital, they had become friendlier – as much as she had allowed herself – but now she was aware that he was withdrawing. He spoke to her less, and she felt his eyes on her often. Sometimes the hairs on her neck would stand on end and she would turn to find him staring at her, unabashed at her notice. She couldn’t put her finger on what had changed – he was still friendly – but her anxiety grew.

Nonetheless, Bucky felt himself warming to her. He couldn’t help remembering her in the hospital, small and pale and weak. And how she’d asked for his company, hadn’t rejected him, had watched movies with him. At the time, he’d thought her simply lonely and unwell, but now that he knew her secret, he realised that she must have craved companionship, friendship, as he had done, and feared rejection. He watched her, saw her desperate to deserve the friendship that was already given so freely, trying to justify it with her behaviour. If she just was good enough, she could deserve to be happy, to forgive herself… He ached for her, and a tiny spark of hope for her was lit. He had yet to forgive himself for his own past, and he knew Nat felt the same. She looked like an abused animal, eager for a kind touch but fearful of the next kick, and yet he knew that the rejection she feared was all in her mind. The team accepted her easily but she had yet to accept herself.

Despite the friendship, her manner remained formal. She insisted on calling them Captain, Sergeant, Miss Romanoff, Doctor Banner. It became a joke to the team one night, who didn’t understand that she felt undeserving of their easy friendship, and he saw her curl into herself as they teased her, unused to the friendly mockery. Bucky watched as Steve approached her where she sat, wringing her hands. He sat beside her on the couch, and quietly held onto her hand, stilling the anxious movements.

“Seems to me we could do with a little more respect round here guys, maybe you should all call me Captain. I am your Commanding Officer after all…” He ducked his head to the barrage of pillows that were thrown at him, still holding her hand. Bucky watched, noted the way his thumb slowly rubbed the back of her hand, slow and calming. He’d seen his friend act in the same way with stray dogs in the street, gentling them with a quiet touch. “I like it. You can call me Captain any time.” He winked at her, his words flirtatious, distracting the team from the way her eyes brimmed, the way he continued to soothe her. 

She took a deep breath, blinked away tears, managed a small smile at the Captain, thanking him, as the team redirected their jokes towards the Captain, teasing him now and no longer her. He took it good-naturedly in his stride, sitting relaxed on the couch, his tall frame stretched out, legs crossed at the ankle. He was the picture of genial contentment, but Bucky was the only one who could see the meaning behind his deflection. He was determined that she recover, that she realise that she was accepted, but Bucky knew that she would never believe it while the team didn’t know the truth about her.

Despite himself, Bucky wanted her to find some hope. He needed to prove to himself that it was possible to be free, and he desperately needed her to be true, for his friend’s sake. He still wanted to test her, but at the same time, he started to become more vocal about his time with Hydra, hoping she would see how he was accepted and believe it for herself.

Stark was sitting at the table, absentmindedly tinkering with one of his suit gauntlets. He often made small adjustments as they came to him, and was generally found with screwdrivers and other tools around him, his brain constantly coming up with new ideas.

“So Tony, you upgrading your suit because you’re jealous of my metal arm? You wanna get yourself caught in the next mission, sure Hydra could fix you up with some good tech…” He saw her eyes widen in surprise that he was so easy with his story. Tony scoffed, tossing a spanner at Bucky, which he caught in his left hand, the clang of metal on metal jarring. 

“Dream on tin man, my tech has truth and justice on its side, yours is just shiny.” Stark grinned as Bucky tossed the spanner back. “I do have some thoughts on how we can improve your arm though. Hydra tech is good, but I reckon I have some tweaks you’ll like.” Bucky nodded, always glad to have Stark working on his arm, and noted her reaction. That the most visible sign of his Hydra years should be seen as merely a science project, without judgement, brought a flush of hope to her cheeks.

Although Bucky tried to forgive himself and move on, he still found that in his sleep, he would be back with Hydra, and his nightmares, less frequent now than before, were still a problem at times. The team were long used now to the days when he would be foul with lack of sleep, angry with the way his brain tricked him, but this was still new to her. So she froze when he burst into her apartment one morning, door slamming as he entered, brow creased with tension, shoulders hunched. The Captain was already in her kitchen, brewing coffee as she tried to help, to take over and serve him.

“Bad night Buck?” The Captain seemed unfazed by the glower he got, but despite his mood Bucky noticed that she had instantly backed away from him, breath coming faster. He recognised the fear as she saw a threat in him, and noted her glancing across the kitchen at him, slowly stepping sideways towards… the knives. Now Bucky tensed up, nightmares and tiredness forgotten. The Captain continued making coffee, oblivious to the scene being acted out behind him. She, fearful of this sudden threat, was edging towards a weapon. And Bucky, unsure of her intentions, was moving towards his friend. His concern was that she had been triggered by her fear response, and would act out. He remembered suddenly what Steve had said. That she would die to protect him. Was that what this was? Was she afraid that he would hurt Steve? He stopped, stepped back, moved around to the other side of the counter, showing her that he was no threat. He saw her shoulders relax, her movement towards the knives stopped. All this had taken just seconds, and Steve was still unaware. He looked up. “Buck? You ok?”

Bucky looked at his friend, and then at her. She was as protective of her Captain as he was of his friend.

“Yeah, bad nightmares. Enough coffee there for me?” He sat down, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, aware that she was slowly relaxing still. This was another moment to show her that even the Hydra part of him was accepted.

“Another nightmare, about being back with Hydra. You know how it goes Stevie. I dream I’m back there, it’s hell. Only good bit is waking up and realising I’m out. I’m free. But god I’d like to sleep.”

“You’re like a bear with a sore head when you’re tired Buck” Steve grinned at his friend, passed him some coffee. “I’m surprised Hydra didn’t chuck you out when they realised what you’re like in the mornings.” He saw her smile slightly, still surprised at the ease of their discussion of his past. “Actually, maybe I should ask if they want you back, I don’t reckon any of us deserve you when you’re tired.” Steve turned, smiled at her, including her in the joke, and Bucky noted her relax completely now, the smile finally reaching her eyes.

It took more moments like this, but Bucky realised that he had started to trust her. Her devotion to her duty, to the Captain, was complete. Bucky saw her watching Steve constantly, almost on edge at the lack of threat and her consequent inability to save him. He saw Nat watching as well and they exchanged glances at times. They both knew there was more here than just her mission. 

He also noticed Steve watching _her_. He’d always been caring, fighting for the underdog and champion of the needy, but the way he looked at her was different to the way he responded to everyone else. Whatever had happened those days in the cabin, had changed him.

As she gradually regained her strength, Nat suggested that she start training again, building up her muscles gently. As they’d expected, she pushed herself too far each day, exhausted and worn down but determined to regain her strength quickly. Steve pulled her aside, telling her to slow down, that she’d put herself back in hospital if she tried too hard. He was the only one she would listen to, obedient to his command, and tried to slow down, take it easier, although the drive to be well again was strong. Even so, gradually, she became stronger, and within a few months, was almost at full strength. 

Nat, never one to give trust easily with most people, trusted her now, implicitly. She had always been a good reader of people, trained by Hydra themselves to be one of the best, not only at combat, but also at understanding people, at seeing under their skin and finding out what made them tick. With most people, she soon realised their flaws and found it hard to like, but here she saw vulnerabilities, fears, and needs, and so she placed her faith in this woman, this Hydra tool. She argued with Bucky about his remaining mistrust, angry that he was unwilling to allow her what he was given himself – a second chance. Their arguments were frequent but after a bad night’s sleep, one argument flared up. Nothing new was said, but as they grew more heated, Bucky tensed up, fists clenching and unclenching. Nat refused to back down, knowing that she could take him out, but also trusting that he had enough self-control not to fight.

“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, Romanoff,” he snarled out, stalking off. As he left, she felt a wave of anger, calling out to his departing back, “You’re a threat Barnes. We all know your trigger words, so do the bad guys. YOU’re the risk here.” As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted them, knowing that she touched a sore spot, that Bucky was acutely aware of the Winter Soldier trapped inside. Her frustration left her lashing out, and seconds later she followed after him to apologise. 

The argument with Natasha had left Bucky riled up, his guilt and unending shame pounding against his skull, leaving him seeing red. He walked fast, jaw clenched, breathing fast. As he passed the training room, he saw her, sparring with the Captain. Although she was still quick to tire, they must have just started as she seemed fresh. Hydra training was never really forgotten and she moved well. She and the Captain circled each other, ritualised routines like a dance as their bodies flowed together. Punch, kick, defend, circle. He saw the way they eyed each other, wary but… trusting, and his anger grew. Deep down, he knew that it was his own guilt, his own fear of proving untrustworthy, that made him want such strong proof from her. His hands were still tensed, teeth gritted. He threw open the door, the movements inside stilling as both looked up sharply.

“That’s not fighting, what the hell good is that kinda practice going to do you? You’ve got to face a real threat.” His voice was as low snarl, rumbling in his chest as he advanced.

She reacted fast, hands up to guard, eyes watching his feet and hands and eyes for clues to his movement. But he didn’t go for her. Steve was standing, hands on hips, scowling at his friend.

“Buck, we’re training…” he began, then suddenly Bucky’s first – his right fist – connected with Steve’s chest and he was propelled backwards, landing awkwardly. The two men were evenly matched but the unexpected attack knocked the Captain off his feet, winding him. Bucky advanced towards him again, teeth bared in a snarl as the Captain started to stand, yelling at his friend.

Without pause, she attacked. A flurry of punches, aimed at his head, no holding back. She was small and much weaker than him, and he pushed her aside easily, still advancing on Steve who was standing now, confused. 

Again she attacked, throwing herself on Bucky’s back, pulling his hair back to expose his throat. Suddenly, he felt the sharp edge of a knife, cold against his throat. He didn’t know how she’d got one so fast, surprised that he hadn’t realised that she was obviously armed at all times. He reached for her, preparing to throw her.

“ENOUGH!” The Captain’s voice rang out loud and all three froze. Natasha, pulling open the door to the training room, looking for Bucky to apologise, stilled at the sight before her. The Captain was standing, breathing deeply, staring at his oldest friend. Bucky, arms raised to pull her off his back, had his head pulled back and a knife at his throat. And she was the one pulling hair to expose his throat, the knife held close enough to nick his skin. A drop of blood slowly eased its way down his throat, the only movement in the room.

“What the HELL Bucky? What the goddamn hell are you playing at?”

Then, without warning, Bucky laughed. Already on edge, she was startled and her hand jerked, but Bucky had moved quicker, pulling the knife away from his neck with his metal hand. Easily, he shifted her off his back onto the floor, then stood facing them both, hands out placatingly.

“I’m your best friend Stevie,” he spoke with a smile still on his lips, his face lightened with relief, such a contrast to the anger it had replaced. “I wanted to see just how far she’d go to protect you. She’d have taken out your best friend, without a thought, for you. Pure instinct, to protect. You were right.”

She had lowered the knife now but stood ready, eyeing him, uncertain. There was an unspoken conversation here, one that she didn’t understand. All she knew was that she had to defend the Captain at all costs. Fury had given her this mission, had trusted her with the Captain’s life, and that alone had been reason enough to fight. Their time together in the cabin had given her other reasons, some she didn’t dare examine yet, but she knew that she wouldn’t have hesitated to cut Bucky’s throat if he had hurt the Captain. Why he had attacked though, she didn’t understand.

“This was a test? Goddamn it Bucky! She could have killed you!” She was almost forgotten now, the two men so intent on each other.

“Yeah, she could. She would. For you. Gut reaction, to protect you.” At that, he turned to her, noting Nat, watching from the doorway as he did. Both looked puzzled, frowning at his strange behaviour. “I could be wrong still, about you, but I trust you. If something happens, if you do turn, and hurt someone, I reckon it won’t be you doing it. It’ll be Hydra, inside you. And that’s not you. I know.” He paused, noticing how her hand had lowered, shaking, at the mention of Hydra, at the awareness that he knew, that Natasha was hearing this too. “I trust you,” he repeated.

“You… know?” She could no longer hear his reassurances, that she had passed his test. She ran.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated the tags: panic attacks, so avoid if you don't want to read about that.

For years, she had been hiding who she was, where she’d come from. She’d broken free of Hydra, made her way to SHIELD, had to keep low, stay hidden. Then she’d spent weeks, locked away with Fury, being broken down, taken apart, telling everything she knew. She knew then that there was no way back, even if she wanted one. For all that she hated Hydra, she was ashamed, of how easily she gave up the world she had known for so long, the only people she’d known, knowing what she was giving them up to. She knew that many of them would die, and she knew that guilt was hers to carry, along with the weight of all the people she’d killed before on Hydra orders. Fury knew this; he saw the light die in her eyes as she named names, as she drew maps, sketched plans, outlined logistics. He watched the weight of each person pressing down on her shoulders, until she no longer lifted her head and met anyone’s eye. She carried every man, woman, and child with her. She didn’t sleep, as faces flashed by in her dreams, and she woke wondering how each one had died, and if they’d known, and cursed her betrayal as they bled.

Over the years, she learnt to put the thoughts away, locked inside a corner of her mind where she tried not to look, hiding now even from her own thoughts. She tried to find justification: for every life she saved, for every injury salved, every child’s pain soothed, she balanced it against a death that she’d caused. But the scales were unbalanced, and sometimes she would catch a face in a reflection, hear a voice behind her, and it would bring back the memories. So she withdrew, further and further, head always down, buried under her burden and avoiding the risk of a past being stirred up. She ate alone, she worked alone, she lived alone, and she planned to die alone, when the debt was paid.

Until Fury put her with the Captain and his team. And she couldn’t be alone any more, however much she tried to stay away. She would hold herself back but she couldn’t help hearing their talk, watching them all together, until one day she’d found herself laughing at something and they’d smiled at her and for a moment, she’d been part of something. It had startled her, terrified her, and she hadn’t known how to take that risk, of letting people in, knowing the pollution she had inside her. But then it happened again, a conversation, a smile, a joke, a pat on the back. She patched up their injuries. Then she left the jet, went with them, and her Hydra-trained reflexes saved Clint, knifed in the back, and suddenly she was a hero, and people were hugging her, and she hadn’t been touched before and somehow, she let her guard down, just a little.

But inside, she knew her dirty little secret. And she knew no-one else could. It was only the thought that the Captain was going to die – that they were both going to die – that had made her speak. And now, like a forest fire, the truth would spread. Barnes knew, and Romanoff had heard. How long before the word spread to the rest of the team, the rest of the compound. Then what would she have? No home with Hydra, no home with SHIELD. Dirty looks, backs turned. Being alone wouldn’t have been so hard if she hadn’t started to get used to being included. And with no home, there was no way to repay the burden on her conscience, and then the weight would begin to press on her again, and the dreams would come back, and she was afraid.

-

When she ran from the training room, pushing past Natasha with such speed that she was almost knocked off her feet, the three team members froze, startled and staring at one another. A heartbeat later, and the Captain was the first to move.

“What the hell Buck?! What were you thinking?”

“OK, I’m sorry!” Bucky held his hands up in apology, ashamed. “I was angry, I was… I...” He faltered to a stop, looking down, then drew a deep breath and met his friend’s eyes. “I was afraid Steve. Afraid that you were letting yourself get too close to someone who could hurt you.”

“You didn’t think I was strong enough to fight her off? Come on Buck, she’s still injured, and I’ve got this damned serum inside me!” Steve scoffed at his Bucky’s explanation.

“I don’t mean you were getting too close physically Stevie,” Bucky spoke more quietly now. Natasha had come into the room, stood between the two men. She knew she’d riled Bucky up, and understood his thoughts.

“He’s right Steve. She’s the first person you’ve let inside the shell for a long time. And if something went wrong, you might be OK physically, but the rest?”

Steve glared at them both, dismissing their words.

“You’re talking crap, OK. We’re a team, ALL of us, and that now includes THREE ex-Hydra. That’s all.” His face contradicted his words. Bucky had always said he wore his heart on his sleeve, his honesty meant that every emotion, every thought, he was unable to hide. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go find her and see if I can get her to forgive me for telling her secret, so thanks for that.”

Bucky acknowledged the truth in that. “I’m sorry. I admit, that was stupid. You were always the one rushing into fights, I should have learnt from you it never did any damn good. I’ll come find her with you, say sorry, OK?”

Steve rolled his eyes. For all that he was quick to anger, his fury was like a flash of lightning, violent but quick to pass, especially when it came to his friends. He didn’t believe there was any major damage done, and there was a part of him, which he tried not to acknowledge, that knew his friend was right, and that Bucky was only protecting him, as he’d always done. What he found harder to acknowledge, to himself, was that Bucky was afraid of his growing feelings, and not of a physical hurt. 

The two men walked towards the elevator, breathing calmer now, and as they waited for it to arrive, Steve turned to Bucky, and quietly said, “you’re a jerk, Buck,” punching him on the shoulder as he did so.

Bucky grinned, relieved that the storm had passed. “I’m not the one that just punched my metal shoulder, punk.”

-

She’d made straight for her room, not knowing where else to go. As she pushed past people in the corridor, they turned to stare, wondering where she was running, and looking so afraid. She saw them turning and her mind told her that they knew, that they were staring at the Hydra tool, with hatred. She heard whispers in her mind, sliding through her thoughts, whispering words of hatred.

When the two men found her in her room, she was too far gone to realise they’d entered. She’d made it into the room, slamming the door, then her knees had given way and she’d slid down the wall beside the door, tears streaming down her face. Her heart was racing, breath coming fast and short, her chest feeling so tight that each breath hurt. The panic, and the shame, had overwhelmed her, and she was oblivious to everything else. Stripped bare of every pretence, every barrier she’d erected, she was left flooded with the horrors of her life. Struggling to breath left her light-headed, the world constricting to the narrowest vision although she couldn’t focus on anything except the panic in her head.

“I’ve got this Buck, it’s OK,” Steve nodded at his friend, and Bucky, meeting his gaze, nodded back. There was nothing he could do here. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder for a second, looked down at her crouched on the floor again, with sympathy, then left quietly.

Steve stood for a second more, then sat down on the floor beside her, carefully not touching her, knowing it would be another pressure on overloaded senses. Gently, as if to himself, he started to talk. Not about anything in particular, he just let his sentences wander; the weather, the furniture, the seasons. He didn’t mind how long it took, unconcerned if he had to sit all day. He leant his head back against the wall, stretched his legs out, moving slowly, still talking. He had been talking for some time when he realised that she’d become aware of him, that his presence had filtered through the panic, although she was still crying, still shuddering.

“Hey, reckon you can try and breathe with me?” His voice was soft and slow, unpressured. “When you’re ready, it’s OK.” She turned her eyes towards him and he could see the pain in her face as she nodded, her breath still too fast but out of her control.

“We got all the time we need, ok.” The Captain looked relaxed, head tilted back, and a half-smile on his face, but it was all a front, soothing, calming. 

Now that she’d met his gaze, she wouldn’t turn away, eyes wide with terror fixed on his. Very slowly, he reached out and rested his hand on hers, feeling her start at his touch. He kept his hand still, met her eyes.

“Let’s breathe, OK? Just breathe, with me, that’s it.”

They sat together, while the sun went down outside, as her breathing slowly calmed to match his. He was so attuned to her that he could tell when her rigid muscles started to relax; when the tide of adrenaline started to recede; when the tears of panic became tears of exhaustion. Slowly, he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, talking quietly. The room was dark now and he made no move to turn on the lights. Even in the dark, he was aware when the panic finally subsided, leaving her too tired for guilt now.

He stretched out an arm, wrapped it around her shoulder and gently pulled her towards him until she was tight against his side, murmuring “you’ve done really well, it’s all OK now” quietly. Too tired to resist, she let her head sink down onto his shoulder, her body giving way. His hand stroked her hair, easing away the tear-sodden strands on her cheeks. He’d stopped talking now, listening to her breathing as it shifted, and she fell asleep against him.

He knew he should move but as he sat in the dark, his cheek against her hair, he realised that Bucky was right, she’d got under his skin. He’d admitted this to her when she was unconscious in the hospital, but had tried to deny it again when she woke. He hadn’t allowed himself to care for someone – not in this way – since he woke up, but he couldn’t deny it any longer. He turned his head gently and pressed a kiss on her hair. She didn’t stir.

“I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.”


	15. Chapter 15

She slept for a long time – worn down from emotion, and still weak from her illness. She didn’t rouse when the Captain eventually moved her to the couch, easily lifting her in his arms and laying her down gently. He found a blanket in her bedroom and covered her over then, unconsciously mimicking their time in the cabin, sat on the floor beside the couch, leaning back against it, close to her head. He picked up her hand, holding it softly and smiled to himself as she made a noise in her sleep, and moved herself into a more comfortable position. Her head was curled forward, resting against his shoulder, and the dark, and warmth, and contact – something he rarely allowed himself – lulled him to sleep.

When he woke, it was to a stiff ache in his neck where his head had fallen forward, and to the feeling of a sudden draft against his back. A red dawn light was showing through the window. He screwed his eyes up, trying to blink away the dryness, then as memories returned, turned sharply. The chill on his back had been caused by her body moving away from his. She was sitting up on the couch now, rubbing her face with her hands, then pulling them through her tangled hair. As she put her hands down, she noticed him watching. Her eyes were red and swollen, her skin dry and sore from salt tears, but the part that hurt the Captain most was the guarded look she gave him. There was a lack of trust there, and he knew he deserved that after telling her secret to Bucky, and there was a fear of rejection, something he knew she’d been holding inside for a long time. He turned towards her, rubbing his stiff neck as he moved, and then pulled himself up on the couch beside her. Her eyes moved, following his, but otherwise she was still.

“I’m sorry I told Bucky your story, without asking you first. I guess it’s my first reaction to most things, get his ideas, been doing it too long to stop and think now.” He had the grace to look slightly ashamed, his mouth quirking up in a sheepish smile. “Nat, I didn’t tell. But she listened in anyway, Nat being Nat.” He was sure he saw her mouth twitch at that, knowing Romanoff as they all did, nothing got past her. 

“Nat supported you, straight away, no hesitation.” That got a reaction. Her eyes widened at the thought of anyone taking her side. “Buck… He worries. He’s protective, forgets I’m not a 90lb weakling. Don’t get me wrong, he likes you, but he’s scared. That ‘test’ of his though, worst idea he’s ever had, and he’s had plenty. But for all the damage he’s done, he’s on your side now.”

He paused, waiting for a response – any response – but she didn’t speak.

“Sweetheart, can you give me a clue on what you’re thinking?” He asked quietly, tipping his head, and smiling encouragingly as he saw her draw in a breath.

“I…” She paused, cleared her throat, tried again. “I’m sorry. For all that.” She waved her hand, embarrassed, her gesture meant to indicate her past, their present, her behaviour. “I’ll get my stuff, get out. Once word spreads…” Her voice gave way and he saw her eyes were shining with unshed tears of shame and loss.

“Not an option. Not gonna happen. You’re not going anywhere.” He was vehement, folding his arms and scowling at the thought, remembering what he’d said as she slept on him after her panic attack – what he’d felt, what he’d finally realised. “You have every right to be here. Fury chose you, Fury vouches for you. So do I. Anyone’s got a problem with that can deal with me, or Buck, or Nat, or Fury. You’ve saved countless lives, you’re damn good at your job, you’ve proved yourself over and over.” 

He realised that he was talking louder and louder, and she was pulling back in reaction to his intensity. He let out a breath, uncrossed his arms, tried to relax. He was surprised at the strength of his feelings, at the thought that she could pack up and leave. He knew he needed to think this through, to make sense of what he felt. Was it gratitude at saving his life? Was it protectiveness? He knew deep down, that it was more. Now wasn’t the time, but he wanted to seek out Bucky, knowing that his oldest friend would always cut through the mess of his thoughts and find the truth. For now though, she had to stay. 

He drew in another breath, saw her relax as the tension in his face eased. “Plus,” he added, pulling himself along the couch towards her, wrapping his arms around her. Her body tensed at first but the he felt her soften and give way to him. “I want you here.”

They sat in silence for a while, both with their minds racing. The Captain had acted on impulse, and knew he’d taken a risk. He’d always told himself he would maintain a professional relationship with all his colleagues, although he knew he never managed it, but admitting that he wanted her to stay could open up a whole new can of worms. He didn’t know that her mind was also mixed up, confused. She wanted to reject this comfort, this friendship, this… whatever it was, telling herself that she didn’t deserve it, but she couldn’t. She felt the warmth of his arms around her, let her head rest against his shoulder and felt the strength in his muscles as they moved. She had no _need_ for anyone, but to be _needed_ was a different feeling. She was strong, she was fast, she was capable of more than she wanted to admit, as was the Captain, but she knew that she found in him something that she didn’t know she was missing, and perhaps she offered something that he needed too.

After a while, he pulled away, sat back up, then put his hands over hers. “This is where you belong. You just gotta accept that.” He nodded, as if to himself, then stood. Her hands felt cold as he let go. “Ok, I’m gonna run you a bath. Go find your clothes, and I’ll get breakfast.”

She lay in the bath, trying to get her mind around the events of the last few weeks, the last few days. From that snowy cabin, to the hospital, to fighting off Barnes, and now she had to understand that three members of her team - more than that, three members of the Avengers - knew who she was, what she’d done. That she even had ‘a team’ was more than she’d ever expected, but for them to know the truth, and… nothing. No recriminations, no punishment, no anger. Nothing.

Her muscles, stiff with tension and a night on the couch, slowly relaxed in the heat of the water. She felt her eyes drifting closed, so pulled herself out, drying off. Her mind flashed back to the cabin, when this strange change in her life had begun. The Captain’s snow-cold, damp skin, as she’d tried desperately to warm them both, was hard to recall in the steamy heat of the bathroom, but the way she had needed to care for him was always close to the front of her mind. She dressed and left the bathroom, then pulled up short. The Captain had food spread out on the table, but he wasn’t alone. Barnes and Romanoff were sitting with him, all talking and eating as if the night before hadn’t ended with a knife to one man’s throat.

Barnes was the first to notice her, standing up and walking towards her even as the others turned. She felt her muscles tighten, her jaw clench, but he stopped an arm’s length away.

“I owe you an apology. My methods were a little… dramatic, let’s say. I’m sorry, I got your back though. After 90-some years, I never thought I’d meet someone as prepared to protect that dumb punk as me.” He gave her a grin, his easy charm drawing her in, as it did to most people. She nodded and his grin widened, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her to the table.

She picked at her food lightly, as the others ate well. To anyone watching, they presented a relaxed picture, but the conversation was dark and the tension she felt left her nauseated and anxious.

“We all have a past. You got out, that took guts. You’re never gonna feel like you’ve wiped the slate clean, not really. So you can’t keep waiting to start your life until the debt’s paid because it won’t work. You’ve gotta forgive yourself, let the past be the past.” Nat was known for being smart, incisive, and the two men nodded their agreement with her words. She gestured, pointing at the other woman with her knife to emphasise her point. “And you can’t live your life based on protecting someone else. That’s not living. You’re your own person, you’re not a guard dog.”

Barnes nodded his agreement. “You’re not the person you were with Hydra. You’re gonna have to accept that change. I know it’s hard. Me and Nat, we’re still works in progress. But it can be done.” Bucky poured himself more coffee, the casual gestures at odds with the talk of Hydra.

There was logic in what they said, she knew that, but it was hard to apply it to herself. She was quiet, withdrawn into her own head as she tried to make sense of the day. Sitting, playing with her mug, turning it back and forth between her hands, she was oblivious to the Captain, watching her constantly. His attention wasn’t unnoticed by the others though. Barnes raised an eyebrow at Romanoff across the table, nodding slightly in the Captain’s direction, and she raised her eyebrows in return.

After breakfast, Barnes and Romanoff left, aware that she still needed to rest and heal, and that she needed time to think. The Captain stayed, slowly moving plates and glasses to the kitchen, helping clear up. The easy domesticity only added to her confusion, her mind a whirl of thoughts and conflicting emotions. She was quiet, distracted, and didn’t notice that the Captain had finished and was standing quietly in the kitchen, waiting. She picked up the last items from the table, turned into the kitchen, and walked straight into him. The Captain put his hands on her arms to steady her, her skin feeling alive under his touch. 

“You look worn out, and I guess you got a lot to think about?” He removed his hands once she was steady on her feet, and her skin cried out at the absence. She saw him push his hands deep into his pockets, unaware that he was clenching his fists tightly to stop him reaching out for her again, not wanting to add another layer of confusion to her thoughts. “Well, you should rest. Need my team healthy.” He winced at his own words, wanting her to know she was more than a team member, but she was already nodding and backing away, the bedroom door shutting behind her.

He took a deep breath, beating down the urge to throw something, and left the apartment to find Bucky leaning against the wall outside, patiently waiting.

“Oh Stevie, you've got it so bad.”


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky grinned at his friend, pushing himself off the wall as he spoke. “Don’t even try and deny it Steve, I’ve known you long enough, you’ve fallen for her hard.” 

Steve ignored Bucky’s comments, walking off down the corridor, Barnes on his heels. 

“She’s doing well, she’s healing up, she’ll be fine soon I’m sure.” He heard Bucky sigh from behind him, then grab at his arm, pulling him to stop. Steve turned, his face stony.

“Just stop denying it Steve, it’s obvious to anyone who knows you.” He held up a hand to forestall the Captain’s next comment. “And don’t give me that ‘I’m her CO’ guff, if you mooned over the rest of your team the way you do over her, it’d start rumours!”

The Captain turned back and started walking again, heading for the elevator. Bucky didn’t give up though, following him into the elevator and then out into his own apartment. Steve rolled his eyes, realising that he wasn’t about to give up. Bucky continued to talk, despite Steve’s lack of engagement.

“Y’know, actually, maybe it’s what she needs. You, take her out dancing, a meal, god knows what, just something that’s… life. Not a mission, not training. Something far from Hydra.”

Both men were sitting on the couch now. Steve had his arms crossed, legs out straight, a glower on his face at Bucky’s relentless conversation. Bucky was sitting forward, gazing off into the distance as he thought of his own plans. A silence fell, and Bucky nudged his friend, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Steve slumped, sighed, and shook his head.

“Fine. FINE. Yes, OK, you win, I admit it, I… like her. More than that. I’m feeling things that I didn’t ever think I would again, not since Peggy. But I’m not making a move Buck, not now, not ever. So can we drop it?”

Bucky had initially looked pleased to have wrung the truth out of his friend, but as he’d continued talking, his face had fallen.

“Why not Steve? And please don’t say ‘no fraternising between the ranks’, you know we don’t operate like that here. And god knows the both of you deserve something good. Look, it’s good that you’ve finally admitted it, and if you ask me, she feels the same, so why the hell not?”

Steve sat forward now, elbows resting on his knees, and paused for a moment before turning, finally, to look at Bucky.

“Why not? Because she sees me as her mission Buck, that’s why. I have no idea what she thinks of me, other than that I’m some asset that must be defended at all costs, and must be obeyed without question.” He sighed again, ran a hand over his face in frustration. “Yes, I care about her. I’m attracted to her, I’m… I don’t even know how to define it. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Face it, Buck, if I said ‘kiss me’, she’d take it as an order. Do you know how wrong it would be to try anything like that?”

He flung himself back on the couch, groaning in frustration, then with a jerk, stood up. “I need to train, I got to just get this out of my system,” and with that, he slammed his way out of the apartment, leaving his friend sitting alone.

Bucky had to admit the truth behind his words. After years of Hydra conditioning, she’d clung to Fury’s command like a lifebelt. ‘Protect the Captain’ and ‘obey the Captain’ had replaced Hydra commands, and she wasn’t ready yet to exist without orders, to be her own person. Maybe she never would be. If Steve tried anything, took her out, started a relationship, he’d never know if it was what she wanted or if she was doing his bidding, even unconsciously. The thought left a bitter taste in Bucky’s mouth, and he understood Steve’s despair. He may not want to admit it to himself, but the Captain was in love with her, and she certainly responded like a woman in love too, but there was no way of knowing what she really felt, and no way of taking it any further. And so the two of them were left, lonely and apart, constantly circling each other, pulled by attraction and kept away by fear and guilt.

The smile now gone from his face, Bucky left the apartment, looking for Natasha.

-

After the Captain had left, she had lain down on her bed but been unable to sleep. She felt such shame at her panic attack, and at how easily she was being forgiven by the others, that she didn’t know how to begin sorting through her emotions. She felt taut, emotions stretched tight, nerves jangling and tense. She stood, paced the room, fists clenching and unclenching, her face screwed up with concern. She was still not fully recovered, but she needed a physical release, to exhaust herself to the point where she couldn’t think any more. Quickly changing clothes, she left the apartment and headed for the gym.

Down on the private training level for the tower, she started running, fast, on a treadmill. Tense muscles screamed at the sudden abuse but she welcomed the pain. She pushed on through, didn’t stop when her lungs started burning, sweat sticking the hair to her forehead and pooling in the small of her back, making her shirt cling. Her eyes stung with the salt of sweat trickling into them, and from the unshed tears she was trying to ignore. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, but continued to run.

“You were supposed to be resting.”

The voice came from behind her, startling her and making her miss her footing. She grabbed at the treadmill’s bar, jarring her ribs hard against the side as she fell. The Captain was at her side instantly, face contrite, turning off the machine and holding her upright as she rubbed her bruised side, winded still from her run.

“Shit, I’m sorry, that was stupid, I thought you knew I was down here.”

She shook her head, still too out of breath to talk. With the machine off, she lowered herself down to sit on its edge, pulling up her shirt high at the side to reveal reddened skin and a dark scrape all along her rib, the knife scar still showing along her side below it. The Captain, looking down at her, was torn between guilt at the new injury he’d caused, albeit unintentionally, and shame at the rush he’d felt at seeing her sweat-damp skin exposed. She drew in a steadying breath and looked up at him.

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry, I was just feeling… I don’t know. Overwhelmed I guess. Stir crazy. Like I’m about to explode and I don’t know why.” 

The Captain sat himself down on the floor beside her, legs stretched out. He had been working at a punch bag, his knuckles red and scuffed against pale skin.

“I get it. I feel the same. I think I need to go primal scream in a wood somewhere.” That brought an unexpected laugh from her, and he grinned in pleasure at seeing her mood lighten. Somehow being in the same room as her made him feel contented, despite knowing that he had to maintain a distance. Her presence was almost enough, her quiet, her strength.

“We missed our chance in the cabin, too busy trying not to die to go scream in the wood.” Now it was his turn to laugh, it was rare for her to joke, and the unexpectedness hit him. He nudged her knee with his own, and they shared a smile that he felt through his entire body as a delicious warmth. Her company was enough, he told himself, he wouldn’t ask for more. They talked a little longer, both eased of their tension by their physical exertion and by each other’s company, finding peace.

-

Bucky had found Natasha in the comms room, reading over recon reports from other teams. She was sitting, relaxed, papers in hand when he found her, looking up at him when he spoke.

“So Steve admitted his feelings…” Natasha sat up, put the papers down, a smile on her face that dropped as he continued, “… but he can’t do anything, because he can’t know if she’s following orders, if saying yes is all part of ‘obey the Captain’, and Steve’s not the kinda man who’s interested in unwilling women.”

He heard Natasha suck in a breath, her face screwed up in thought. It made sense, now that it was in front of them. She’d never had a chance to live as her own person, being brought up with Hydra, following orders, then switching allegiance and now desperate to pay her debt following orders for Fury and the Captain. It was no wonder she found it hard to process her own feelings, she’d never been allowed the luxury before. Natasha ran her hand over her face, thinking, then stood. 

“Come on, I want to go talk to Fury.”

Tracking Fury down with JARVIS’s help, Natasha and Bucky made their way to his apartment and knocked on the door. Fury opened the door with a blank face, leaving the door open as he walked back in.

“JARVIS is programmed to tell me when anyone is looking for me. To what do I owe this… pleasure?”

Natasha had known Fury for long enough to be unintimidated by his demeanour. She sat herself down at the table, accepting a mug that he passed her and pouring herself some coffee. Bucky remained standing, leaning against a pillar nearby, unsure what she intended.

Calmly, Nat set out the facts as they had them. The fact they knew she was Hydra, the growing feelings between her and the Captain, the Captain’s dilemma. Fury sat silently, listening.

“I fail to see what you want me to do here Agent. I employed her as a medic, and as a member of your team, and to give us access to inside information. She’s got an easier life here than she had with Hydra.”

“That’s crap, Fury!” Bucky’s outburst surprised them all. It had been Natasha who had supported her the most vehemently from the beginning, but Bucky’s trust, once earned, was strong. Hearing Fury’s denial of responsibility infuriated him, and stirred up feelings about his own life that he was unaware that he had.

“That’s crap,” he repeated, quieter. “You can’t just pick people dry then leave them to sort themselves out. You have a duty, a responsibility.”

“She came to _me_ , don’t forget, Barnes. I didn’t recruit her, she asked us to take her in. She volunteered the information that you’ve been using. I gave her a job, I didn’t need to do that. My duties stop there.”

Bucky’s face was hot with anger, his fists clenched, but it was Natasha who spoke again.

“You know that’s crap Nick,” her voice was soft, but Natasha’s power had never been in visible anger. “You’ve always gone above and beyond for your people, you’ve broken the law to do what you thought was right, it’s always been personal, even when you’ve denied it. Bucky’s right, you don’t drop people like that, and you know it.”

There was silence for a moment, then Fury’s face split with a grin, and he laughed. Natasha turned to Bucky, and their eyes met, puzzled.

“Good, excellent, this is good!” He smiled at them both, poured more coffee, gestured for Bucky to join them at the table. “She was very clear when I recruited her, that she didn’t want anyone to know she was Hydra. When she let slip to Rogers, I didn’t know what to do next, decided I’d have to let it play out. If having her on board was going to split the team, I’d have to move her, but I had to see if she was accepted first. It’s been pretty damn clear that Cap was infatuated, but now you two know, and have clearly decided to take her under your own ex-Hydra wings, there’s no issue.”

Bucky slowly pulled out a chair and sat down, sliding the mug towards him, the tension of the moment before dissipating.

“She’s refused all help before. Oh believe me, I have tried. But she’s too intent on feeling every moment of her guilt, doesn’t want to be free of it because she feels she deserves it all. Her mission has become her route to salvation. But now we have a chance, I think. With your example, maybe she’ll open up. Talk to her, see if she’ll let you in. Call in Wilson, Cap will trust him to know the truth, and he might be able to recommend a therapist.”

The three stayed talking for hours. All three had their own wounds that they allowed very few to see. But their suffering, and the empathy it gave, and their love for the Captain, was maybe just strong enough to help them all find a way through.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was never happy with this chapter, so I've edited it a bit so although the plot has stayed the same, it's (I hope) a bit less sucky

Surprisingly, it was Stark who began the change. Stark, who the world dismissed as all show, as surface without substance. Stark who, unknown to most people, was the master at the brave face, at creating a smooth front to hide the turmoil inside.

It was a few days later, days where little happened although her mind was racing. She slept little, nightmares overwhelming her as she tried to understand how so much guilt inside could count for so little to the others. The Captain had stayed close to her, watchful, but determined to act in no way that would suggest he was more than a caring friend. She, in her turn, seemed more determined than ever that she should earn her place – in the team, in the world – by fulfilling her duty. She trained harder, determined to become combat-ready, ready to die for the Captain, to finally balance the scales which were forever weighed down by her guilt. Knowing that three people in the team now knew her secret, she felt torn. On one hand, she felt that surely there must be a greater judgement, that three people now knew the dark inside her. On the other hand, whenever she saw Romanoff or Barnes, living their normal lives, seemingly unburdened, she felt hope.

She had finished training one evening and returned to her apartment. As always, the Captain  
was there, along with Bucky. After spending so long in her apartment while she recuperated, they had started to treat it as a second home. She sat, watching the two men interact. Her attention was split. She watched Barnes with envy, desperate to be as comfortable in the Captain’s presence as he was, and as comfortable with his past as he seemed. She knew there was guilt, anger, shame, all underlying his every move and yet he didn’t carry that guilt at all times. He laughed, he relaxed, he seemed… happy. Despite everything. And nobody judged him as undeserving of that happiness. And the Captain, him she watched with duty, and with something else that she didn’t dare to name. Her eyes wandered to him often. She watched the sunlight play on the fine hairs on his arms as he lifted his arm to drink, watched his shirt shift as his muscles rolled beneath it. She unconsciously mimicked his movements, slowly running a hand over her own throat as she watched him swallow, imagining the rasp of his skin in contrast to hers. She let her mind wander, sitting back and watching, unaware that as she watched the Captain, rapt, Barnes smiled to himself at her focus, but unsure how to bring the two together.

She was startled out of her reverie by a loud knocking on the door, heart going into overdrive despite knowing they were in a secure tower in a compound full of trained soldiers. She scrambled up, automatically putting herself between the door and the Captain, then peering through the eye hole. Her shoulders relaxed and she opened the door.

Stark and Banner entered, faces split with wide grins. Stark’s arm was around Banner’s shoulder but as he passed her, he stopped, putting his hands on her shoulders and staring at her admiringly. She pulled back, unsure of this odd attention.

“What’s got you so happy Tony? Bruce?” The Captain looked equally bemused as Stark and Banner positioned themselves in front of the group as if about to perform.

“Only a major breakthrough, all thanks to the genius you see before you,” Stark smirked, gesturing to himself and Bruce. “While you’ve all been sitting around doing whatever it is you do and spending my money, _some_ of us have been working. Working on the bullet that nearly finished you off Steve. Feel free to thank us here.”

That caught their attention. The Captain sat forward, elbows on his knees. She was still standing, near the door, and moved forward now, standing behind the couch, behind the Captain, her eyes on Stark.

“We’ve been trying to work this thing out since you got back,” it was Banner who took up the tale, quieter but visibly excited. “Hydra created the perfect weapon to get you Cap, but thanks to your miracle worker there, we’ve got the perfect antidote.” She shifted uncomfortably at the attention as Banner pointed towards her, not wanting praise but keen to hear what they had discovered. The Captain turned and noted her standing behind him, beckoned her closer. She moved around the couch, allowing herself to sit close to the Captain, Bucky resting on the arm beside her. All eyes were on the two scientists.

“We’re calling it Cap Kryptonite!” Stark announced, Banner adding “well, you are,” with a grin. Their excitement was catching and she noted the Captain smiling in response.

“Get on with it!” Barnes groaned, rolling his eyes.

“No patience, some people; no flair for the dramatic,” Stark sighed, “Give me my moment... fine, fine. Cap, they’ve obviously got a sample of your blood somehow – maybe when you were shot, anyway, no matter, they’ve found the compounds in the serum somehow, figured out how they work. They’ve bioengineered this bullet to combat the serum effects. It’s technology we didn’t know Hydra had, but now we do – and more importantly, we know what to do to counteract it! As I said, you’re welcome, Rogers.” He bowed, a smile spreading across his face again.

The Captain’s face had clouded over as he took in the news. “They have bullets designed specifically to kill me?”

“’Fraid so Cap,” Banner responded. “You’re a threat. But now we’re one step ahead of them.” Banner nodded at her, sitting quietly. “You were lucky she was there, Steve.” She felt the Captain’s eyes turn to her, stayed staring ahead, although she felt her face warm as though it was his hand, not his gaze, on her.

“It’s just as well you got it out when you did, or we’d have a dead Captain on our hands. You saved him.” Stark watched her face as he spoke, noted the muscles tense, the eyes widen. Not a look of pleasure or satisfaction but fear and guilt. “God knows how, but you kept him alive, and even though all that honour and goodness does wear thin sometimes, I guess we’re all grateful.”

After that, the conversation grew. Drinks were poured and Stark insisted on a celebration of their scientific genius, asking JARVIS to invite Fury, Romanoff, Barton and many more upstairs. The room grew louder, everyone exclaiming over and over as they heard the news. Hydra technology, beaten by Stark brainpower, the story went, but each time someone would add that it wouldn’t have been possible without her. The noise grew louder in her head each time her name was spoken, as if she was being mocked by the voices of the dead she carried with her. She withdrew, quietly, standing in the kitchen to catch her breath and find some silence for a moment.

Stark had noted as she withdrew, and sought her out. He might revel in the brash appearance he faked, hiding in plain sight, while she wanted only to withdraw, to become invisible and unnoticed, but the pain in their eyes was the same however it was wrapped up. He'd caught her eye as she became the centre of attention, saw her desperate to deflect rather than deal.

“PTSD,” he spoke quietly from the shadows. Her head rose quickly, searching out the source, as he stepped out of the doorway.

“Post-traumatic stress disorder. Shell shock. Survivor’s guilt. Basically being screwed over by the horrors of your past. Familiar?” He smiled kindly at her. “Took me a while to admit it, it’s funny how months trapped in a cave lugging a car battery to keep you alive will fuck you up. But now I'm a certified expert in recognising it in others. Well, certifiable anyway.” His smile widened and he gave her one of his famous wide grins, but she noticed how it didn't reach his eyes. “Nightmares? Always painfully aware of the people around you? Flashbacks, insomnia, guilt, insecurity, low self-esteem?” He bowed. “Welcome to my world.”

She watched him warily, unsure of how to take the combination of this painful conversation with the swagger as he walked into the room. He was carrying a bottle of beer, swigging from it between sentences. He stopped close by her, folded his arms and watched her.

“I don’t know your story. Don’t really need to. But it’s not like any of us here isn’t suffering. Barnes, Romanoff, hell even the mighty Captain America himself, he’s a damaged veteran who lost his whole unit, his family. We all deal in different ways. Me, I drink, and I throw a lot of money at someone to make them listen to me. Sometimes it even helps. I recommend it.”

She stood frozen by his words as he continued. “We’re a family of giant screw-ups here. Think that’s why we all get along, why you belong here. You just got to find your own way to deal. Therapy and whisky for me; good deeds for the Captain, what’s yours going to be?” He tilted his head, gave her a grin and reached past her to grab some snacks. “If you want help figuring it out, come find me.”

Perhaps it was his words, about being told she belonged. Perhaps it was the lack of judgement from those who knew her past. Perhaps it was simply time, but after that evening, things began to change.

-

The next morning, the Captain introduced her to Wilson. He was quick to smile when they were introduced, shaking her hand warmly, his grip firm. She couldn’t help smiling in response, but her face froze when she heard the Captain speak.

“Fury’s told Sam your story. He knows about Hydra.” 

For so long she had kept her secret and now it was spreading beyond her control. She felt vulnerable, afraid. Each new person who knew was another person to judge her, and another weight in her mind. And yet Wilson was smiling still, not turning away in disgust. She swallowed hard, resisting the urge to run, then felt a hand on the small of her back. The Captain, recognising her anguish, stood close to her. The warmth of the touch grounded her, brought her back from the panicked rush in her mind.

“He can help. Let him help.” She turned at the Captain’s words, surprised by the pleading in his voice, and found herself nodding. If this was what the Captain commanded, she could do it.

She sat with Wilson for an hour, talking quietly. He showed no horror at what she said, no revulsion. He offered few comments and eventually her voice ran dry and she slowed to a stop. She stared down at her hands in her lap, unwilling to meet her eye, but conscious as he leant back in the chair, stretching his arms above his head.

“I see this a lot. Soldiers back at home, dealing with what they did in combat, dealing with the friends who didn’t come home. We all got the same problems; guilt, regret, we carry that burden with us. You did what you did, you didn’t know any different. Now you’re making amends. You let that past define you too long, life ain’t gonna be worth it.” He paused, waiting for her to look up, continuing when she finally braved a glance at his face. “I know a guy, good guy. I’ll arrange for you to talk to him. Not saying it’ll be easy, not saying it’ll be quick, not saying it’ll fix you. But if you let it, it’ll help.” She watched him, then, slowly, she nodded.

-

The compound was much further south than the cabin had been, so winter came later, but it was coming. The late, warm, autumn started to fade, the trees turning orange and red, dry leaves caught in whirlwinds in the corners of buildings. The air got crisper, intensely blue skies following frosty mornings. Every week the ice got thicker, the trees barer, the world changing. And as time passed, she changed too. As the world froze, she felt herself melting, the tension at keeping her secret fading.

She knew she would carry them in her head forever, the people she’d hurt, alongside the hurt done to her. But now she had started to believe that she could let other things in. She would always feel the need to atone, to do good in the ways she could, but to hate herself, to court death, would not undo the things she had done, would not reclaim a childhood stolen by Hydra, a life broken by pain. And so little by little, she allowed herself to be happy. 

There were days filled with anxiety, with fear, with worry, but there were also days where she laughed, and didn’t hide her mouth with shame afterwards. She talked, to the man Sam found for her, and he gave her a new perspective, helped her find a way to see that her present actions could help her find peace with her past. And she learnt to live. She knew that one day, the truth might come out about her past, that more people might know, but the more time she spent with her new friends, the less she feared their reactions. They might be shocked, but they wouldn’t turn away. No one was without sin here.

As the months past, she allowed herself to let go of the mission she had chosen. Protecting the Captain would always be important, but not it was not out of duty and guilt, but something much deeper and more complex. She still resisted naming it, but her body reacted to his presence and his company.

Winter fell, the air cold in her lungs, trees dark shadows against a grey sky as the first snow began to fall. She hurried along the paths towards the building that had become her home, after a day in the wards. She had helped people today, had cleaned wounds, set bones, and helped the ill find rest. It felt good. She was tired but happy. She felt something wet on her face, looked up to see the first snow of the year starting to fall as she made her way inside and into the elevator. White flakes slowly melted on her sleeves as she rode up.

The Captain was there, in her rooms, as he often was now. He craved company as much as she had once feared it, and it was her company that he most often sought. He was sitting by the window, a book in hand but forgotten as he watched the snow fall faster now. He looked up as she came in and smiled and she felt the familiar twist in her stomach at the sight.

“You seen this? The snow?” He nodded at the view as she walked towards him. “Just brings it all back. That cabin, the bullet, everything.” She stood behind his chair, hands resting on the back, close enough to touch him but afraid to do so. He saw her reflection in the window as the sky darkened outside, and startled her by reaching up, and holding her hand as it rested by his head. His fingers tightened on hers, for a moment, before he stood and walked to the kitchen to make them both some food.

Each day brought them a little closer together. They found reasons to touch one another: removing a hair, passing in a corridor. Both thought everyone else was oblivious but to the rest of the team it was a source of amusement and frustration. Barnes and Romanoff rolled their eyes when the Captain sat next to her, close enough that their legs just brushed, or when she would rest a hand on his back to walk past. There seemed nothing anyone could do. For all her growth, she still felt unworthy, could not see why anyone would choose her, and he was too honourable, too afraid to ever ask for more in case she took it as a command.

She still called him Captain. Over time, she had relaxed with the others, now calling them Bruce, Tony, Clint. ‘Bucky’ had first come out in a moment of frustration when they were training together and he threw her, landing awkwardly with a curse. ‘Natasha’ had come out while joking with Clint, daring each other to tease and prank the team. But the Captain, his name was still a barrier, one that she had erected to keep them separate, to hide her feelings. She wanted to feel his name on her tongue, and he wanted to hear it. ‘Captain’ couldn’t act on his feelings, but ‘Steve’ could. The Captain was to be obeyed, was an unequal relationship, but Steve, Steve was a friend, or more.

-

As winter drew on, a mission was called, and for the first time in a long time, she joined the team. Her adrenaline was running high, this was her chance to test herself, to make up for freezing once before. An act of penance. On the jet, the Captain – _her_ Captain – gave the orders. They were all gathered around a screen showing blueprints of the base they were heading for. The Captain pointed out sniper positions, tech rooms, allocated tasks to each team member. 

She was focused on the plan, head tilted, considering what he said. She knew Hydra, she knew their bases, the way they worked. She spoke without thinking.

“No, you’re wrong, Steve,” she continued to look at the map, mouth pursed in concentration, unaware that all eyes had snapped to her face as she spoke. Contradicting the Captain, calling him by name? 

She started to speak again, pointing at the screen. “Bucky would be better off here, you going to the left, I’ll go to the right, we’re better off splitting up…” She didn’t get a chance to finish. She became aware of the change in mood, looked up to see faces changing. Bucky was smirking, nudging Natasha, who winked at her. Her brow creased in a confused frown as Bucky and Natasha suddenly left, pushing Clint and Sam out in front of them, moving behind the screen that separated the cockpit from the briefing area.

Puzzled, she turned to ask Steve what was going on. He was watching her, his eyes soft, mouth smiling. “Steve? And telling me I’m wrong?” He shook his head in mock-disappointment as she thought back over the last few seconds, over her last few words.

“Oh! I…” she started to say, her face heating as she realized she’d let her guard down, but before she could finish her sentence, he had taken one step closer, close enough that she could feel his warmth. He reached out, slowly enough that she could move away if she needed to, and cupped his hand around the back of her head. Her head moved against his palm, her own hand sliding up his side. His eyes were dark now as they gazed down at her. Her mouth quirked up a little, and he moved his face near enough that their lips almost brushed.

“Steve,” she said again. Firm, definite, sure. It was all she could say, all that mattered now, and he moved forward, closing the whisper-thin gap between their lips, and kissed her.


End file.
